


Nesting

by Barrhorn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of loosely connected stories of the bird moms acquiring and raising a daughter. Gonna skip around the timeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foundling

Fareeha steps just inside the door to Angela’s office, watching her lover type away, a small frown of concentration on her lips and a crease between her eyes. With a smile and the knowledge born of long experience, Fareeha waits, not wanting to interrupt in the middle of a thought. It’s not until Angela sighs, her eyes closing and her hands stilling over the keyboard that Fareeha walks into the room proper, going behind the chair to wrap her arms around Angela’s shoulders. The small weight hidden in her hand feels warm and heavy all out of proportion, and she kisses Angela’s cheek to distract herself from it.  
“Done?”  
“I should be,” Angela replies, leaning back into the embrace. “But if they had any sense I would’ve been done an hour ago.” She twists in her seat, seeking out Fareeha’s eyes. “How is she?”  
“Asleep. For now.”

—

The baby had been left by the front door of the watchpoint. The security cameras hadn’t picked up anything useful, and despite careful canvasing of the neighborhood, nobody had claimed any knowledge of recent births. Nobody had seen (or admitted to seeing) any pregnant women around except for the one resident who was still heavily pregnant and had laughed when she opened her door to them. The note that had been pinned to her blanket only read _”Please take care of Nadia”_ and gave them absolutely nothing to go on.

The part that they hadn’t asked, that the people they’d talked to very carefully hadn’t said, was that nobody wanted to take in the child.

Which was how Overwatch ended up with a baby to care for as they figured out the next steps. Which was how they found out that Jack already knew how to change a diaper like a champ and that Jesse was terrified of holding her.

Which was why when Fareeha woke one night to find Angela gone from their bed and went looking for her, she eventually found her curled up on a couch holding Nadia. When Fareeha saw the terrible grief in her expression she’d dropped to her knees in front of the couch, her hands resting on Angela’s thighs. “Talk to me, _ya amar_ ,” she’d said.  
And so they talked, quietly, not wanting to disturb the child. They talked of their responsibilities to Overwatch, the world, each other. The burdens that they carry, and the fears.  
“The others are right,” Angela said, though her voice sounded tight and unhappy. “We should give her to someone who can care for her properly. We’ll be pulled around the globe at all hours. She deserves parents who won’t be constantly in danger.”

And they talked about the future. Their future. And Fareeha looked at the girl in Angela’s arms, at her thin blonde hair and the closed eyes that she knew were a few shades darker than Angela’s. Those could change, she knew, but right now, like this, Nadia could easily be Angela’s own blood.  
“You are already part of my family,” Fareeha told her. “She could be part of ours as well.” She didn’t know how to handle the shining wetness of Angela’s eyes and pressed a kiss to one knee to give herself a second to breathe. “You know my mother would be thrilled.”  
When Angela laughed, the tightness in Fareeha’s chest eased. “Well, that settles that then, doesn’t it?”  
Fareeha rose a bit stiffly, leaning over the couch to kiss Angela properly. “We will make this work,” she promised softly.  
“I love you,” Angela told her in return.

 

They waited to go to breakfast the next morning until they were sure that almost everyone was there already. They walked in together, Angela still holding Nadia, Fareeha a step behind and to her right. They stopped by the table, still standing, waiting until someone noticed them and pointed them out to the rest. Fareeha set her shoulders as chairs scraped across the floor and all eyes landed on them.  
“We’re keeping her,” Angela announced, her voice strong and clear. “So let me reintroduce you to Nadia Amari.”

With a start, Fareeha turned to Angela, who was looking up at her with a smile and a stubborn set to her jaw. They had not discussed that!  
“Good going, Dad!” Hana yelled across the room, and as everyone erupted into laughter Fareeha rolled her eyes at the youngest member of Overwatch.

She heard the various congratulations and ribbings, but her attention was focused on Angela, who was smiling and laughing brightly, who soothed Nadia when she started to fuss like she’d been doing it for years, whose eyes found hers instinctively when she looked up from the child.  
“That kid’s gonna have a huge family,” Jesse said next to her.  
“Yeah,” Fareeha said, not looking away. “Isn’t it great?”

—

“If she’s asleep, does that mean we have a couple of hours?”  
“Mhmm,” Fareeha agrees, her arms tightening around Angela and preventing her from turning. “But first: I know we’ve talked about this, and I know we’re waiting until things settle down. But since we _somehow_ ,” and Angela giggles at the soft sarcasm in her voice as Fareeha drawls the word, “acquired a child, I don’t believe that’s happening any time soon. So I wanted to give you this.”

And she opens her hand in front of Angela, feeling her go still as she looks at the gold band resting on her palm.

“Just as a reminder that I’m here. For everything. Through anything.”

She knows, because they _have_ talked about it, that Angela doesn’t place a lot of importance on being married; she doesn’t care about the ceremony and the certificate. Fareeha could skip the ceremony as well, but she would like to get married someday. Even if it’s only so that she can officially call Angela her wife. But even if they’re not married - even if they never get married - the ring feels important. A way of shouting to the world that she is Angela’s, that she is proud of that, and that Angela is a part of her future. A part that she has chosen and will choose every day for the rest of her life.

“I’ve never doubted that,” Angela says, picking up the ring and carefully sliding it on to her finger (where, Fareeha notes smugly, it fits perfectly). “I would never doubt that.”  
“I don’t want to force you into something you’re not ready for,” Fareeha says, and this time when Angela laughs and sits forward, Fareeha lets her go, straightening as Angela stands.  
“I thought I was doing that to you with this,” Angela says, gesturing to the door that leads to their bedroom, where Nadia is sleeping.  
Fareeha grins and shrugs a shoulder casually. “Oh, that? No problem. That’s only eighteen years or so.”  
“More,” Angela says quietly, her arms winding around Fareeha’s waist.  
“More then,” Fareeha concedes as she tilts Angela’s face up for a kiss. “Come on, let’s get some sleep while we can.”

A soft but rising cry from the other room makes Angela laugh at Fareeha’s exasperated breath. “Too late,” she teases. “Let’s go deal with our early riser of a daughter.”

She steps toward the door, but not before lacing her fingers through Fareeha’s, and the soldier can feel the thin metal around her finger. That, combined with the comment about their daughter, has her smiling as she follows obediently after.

How can she complain?


	2. the importance of a good couch

Angela opens the door into the Amari-Ziegler quarters. They’d never asked for special treatment; just started sharing one room when they were ready for that step. But once they’d taken in Nadia, the others had insisted that they take the old officer’s quarters, which boasted a sitting room along with two bedrooms.

The light from the hallway spills over into the room, illuminating a pair of legs stretched out over the couch, and Angela shakes her head fondly as she closes the door behind her and turns on the light.

Fast asleep and snoring lightly, Fareeha is on her back on the couch, her lips parted and her arm around the baby sleeping on her chest. What a sight to come home to. Due to her military background and leadership skills, Fareeha had been put in charge of the newest batch of Overwatch recruits, and she wears herself out fretting about getting them properly ready before putting them into danger.

So far, none of the recruits have been dumb enough to complain to Angela about their drill instructor, but she’s ready with a lecture about how Fareeha pushes herself just as hard as them for when one of them finally slips. Hana, who knows about this, keeps lurking around the med bay when the recruits come for their check ups. She claims she wants to record the moment the recruits start fearing Angela more than Fareeha.

She leans over Fareeha, placing a hand gently on her left shoulder. It’s a signal to the soldier who has never woken easily; the left side, where Angela usually sleeps, is safe, the right side is an emergency and needs her awake _now._ “Fareeha,” she says quietly, hoping she can wake her without disturbing Nadia, “let’s go to bed. You’ll regret it in the morning if you sleep out here.”

Fareeha squeezes her eyes further shut against the light, turning her head into the couch back cushions and mumbling something that sounds like “‘m fine.”

“Okay,” Angela says, carefully setting Fareeha’s arm aside so she can take Nadia. “But Nadia and I are going to bed now. I’ll miss you.”  
Fareeha’s head slowly turns back, squinting narrowly at Angela before she groans and rubs a hand over her face. “Fight dirty,” she grumbles, and Angela laughs and brushes a kiss across Fareeha’s lips before turning toward Nadia’s room.

Angela thinks she’s going to get away with it too, except that as soon as she starts to put Nadia in her crib, the girl wakes up and starts fussing.

“Ah, häsli,” she murmurs, rocking the child gently in her arms. There’s one surefire way to get her to sleep, but she can hear Fareeha still waking up in the other room. Instead of waiting, she begins to sing softly, smiling at how familiar the lullaby has become in the past six months. Even if she still has no idea what the Arabic actually means.

Something else for her to do in her always copious amounts of free time. Then again, what’s a little more lost sleep at this point?

But Nadia’s quieting down, peering up at her as if trying to decide why her favorite song is being sung in a higher key than usual, and it still amazes Angela how quickly the rest of the world can fade away when she’s holding her daughter. The world expands again marginally when arms wraps around her waist, Fareeha’s smooth voice picking up the lullaby. Angela allows her own singing to fade out, the better to listen to Fareeha, and can hear her lover’s smile in her voice. Fareeha sings beautifully, but she’s so self-conscious about doing so in front of people that she rarely does. Nadia’s the only one who can get her to sing with little hesitation.

Angela leans back into Fareeha’s embrace, closing her eyes as their daughter does the same. If there’s a more perfect moment in existence, she can’t think of it.

—

“Good briefing, Commander,” Jesse congratulates her, clasping her shoulder as she stands outside her quarters. “You’re a natural.”

“Thanks,” Fareeha says, mirroring his gesture as the praise warms her chest. “Though I know you and the others will tell me the instant I do something you don’t like.”

He laughs and releases her, tipping his hat back on his head. “Ain’t got nothing to worry about there. Just glad it’s you and not me. Now get. I’m sure the missus and the kid are dying to see you.”

“Please call Angela that to her face, I dare you.”

“Darlin’,” Jesse drawls, returning Fareeha’s smile, “when I’m talking to her, you’re the missus.”

She waits for their shared laughter to fade before opening the door onto the sight that she expects: Angela and Nadia are curled up on the couch together, the holoscreen waiting patiently on the menu screen of whatever movie they’d been watching. She closes the door behind her carefully, keeping the click of the latch as soft as possible.

Still, when she walks over to two of the people she loves most in this world, she can see how her daughter’s lips twitch into a smile before being schooled back into neutrality. Angela is dead to the world, her breathing slow and steady, her head fallen against the couch arm in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

_One problem at a time._ Fareeha leans down and presses a kiss to the top of the smaller blonde head, then murmurs into Nadia’s ear, “I know you’re awake.”

Another badly hid smile. “No I’m not.”

“You’re getting too big for this,” Fareeha tells her, even as she carefully scoops Nadia into her arms, rising easily and walking towards her room.

Nadia giggles, pressing her head into Fareeha’s shoulder. “Except you’re gonna carry Mom to bed next.”

“Well, sometimes Mom needs the sleep,” Fareeha answers, carefully turning sideways to maneuver them through the doorway without banging Nadia’s legs against anything. Another throat-tightening reminder of just how quickly time passes. Truthfully, Nadia really isn’t too big or too heavy to carry to bed, and Fareeha’s just as happy to indulge the eleven year old. What a scary number; it seems like all Fareeha has to do is blink before Nadia will be a teenager. The concept terrifies Fareeha a little bit, remembering all too well how her teenaged years had gone and all the arguments she’d had with her mother.

But Fareeha has that experience to draw on, and Angela by her side, and for now Nadia is still willing to pretend to be asleep (sort of) so that she can be carried to bed by her mother. And Fareeha has enough trouble in her life without having to borrow some from the future.

“Alright, here you go.” She places her gently on the bed, pulling the blanket up and around her. She taps her cheek with one finger. “Now pay the fare.”

Nadia giggles and kisses her cheek before settling into bed, looking up at Fareeha with big blue-gray eyes. “Good night.”

“Good night, habibti.”

She returns to the sitting room, turning off the screen and collecting Angela into her arms with the ease of long habit. Angela’s a deep enough sleeper that she doesn’t even stir, her only reaction a brief grumble of discontent when Fareeha puts her into the bed and pulls away so she can climb in from the other side. When Fareeha lies down next to her and puts an arm around her, Angela instinctively curls into her, tucking her head under her chin and threading one leg through Fareeha’s.

A surge of gratitude rises in Fareeha’s throat, and she shuts her eyes and prays, silently and fervently. _Thank you. Thank you for my family._

—

Angela wakes slowly as arms cautiously wrap around her shoulders and under her knees. She can feel the muscles work as she’s slowly lifted, and her head doesn’t instantly fall against a familiar shoulder.

Not Fareeha.

“Nadli?” Her tongue feels thick in her mouth, her eyes glued together.

“It’s okay, Mom. Go back to sleep.”

“But Fareeha-“

“Isn’t home yet. They’re probably making her sign everything in triplicate.”

Angela murmurs a protest - that Fareeha’s not back, that she’d rather wait up for her - but sleep is pulling at her, unwilling to give her up so easily.

She feels Nadia steady herself before putting her foot on the first step of the staircase that leads to the second floor of the small house they’d bought six years ago, wanting to finally live off base, the world stable enough that the strike commander _could_ live off base. And now that Fareeha’s retiring, they’ll probably only stay until Nadia leaves for college.

Distantly, she feels guilty for how her daughter is carrying her, feeling the slight hesitance before each step up. But giving her the Amari surname had proved prophetic: Nadia’s taken after Fareeha in everything but appearance. She has a fierce stubbornness and pride in herself that Angela doesn’t want to prick by telling her that she can stop. And she’s strong, in spirit as well as body. She has Fareeha’s sense of justice and honor, and the passion for them.

And, perhaps unfortunately, her sense of humor.

Angela forces her eyes open, taking in the determined set of Nadia’s jaw and her mussed, short-cropped hair. How incredibly lucky they’d gotten, her and Fareeha, seventeen years ago.

“I hope you know,” she says softly, letting her eyes close again, “just how proud of you we are.”

She might have imagined the almost-stumble of Nadia’s foot against the step. She knows that the arms tightening around her are real, as well as the deep breath against her side.  
“Thanks, Mom,” she hears softly, and lets herself drift back into sleep.


	3. Milestones

Fareeha’s phone buzzes, the screen lighting up from its place on the table in front of her. Nadia, securely tucked into one arm on her lap, giggles and reaches for it.  
“So much for settling you down,” Fareeha murmurs, putting aside the book she’d been reading and reaching for the phone, smiling when she sees the name across her screen. Angela has been out on a mission for just over a week, and every bit of communication is precious. While Fareeha can appreciate that Winston and Jack try to keep one of them home with Nadia whenever possible, it’s still a difficult adjustment. Before they’d gone on almost every mission together. Fareeha hates being left behind, having to trust the others to protect Angela (though she knows they will), having to trust Angela to take care of herself (much more suspect). But neither does she want to constantly leave Nadia in someone else’s care.

These past eleven months have given her a much better understanding of what her own mother had to deal with; it’s softened some of the hard edges of their relationship. Just another reason for her to be grateful for the day that Nadia came into their lives.

She unlocks the phone, holding it out of Nadia’s reach.

_Are you two still up?_

_just reading before bedtime. call us?_

Almost immediately, the phone lights up again, and when Fareeha accepts the incoming communication, Angela’s face and shoulders fill the screen. She smiles broadly when she sees them, but her eyes are ringed with circles and her hair’s been left down, a sure sign that she’s trying to relax.  
Unaware of these finer points, Nadia bursts into a slew of happy babbling at the sight of her mom and reaches forward, and Angela’s laugh seems to banish her exhaustion. Fareeha watches how she sits a little straighter, her eyes becoming brighter.  
“Hello, _müsli_ ,” she says. “I assume you two have behaving in my absence?”  
“She’s been cruising everywhere,” Fareeha reports. “Must’ve followed the couch up and down several times, trying to figure out why she wasn’t getting anywhere.”  
“She’ll be walking soon.” Despite her fond tone and smile, Angela seems to deflate a little, something that Fareeha absolutely cannot allow.  
“Not before you get home,” she insists firmly. “Even if that means I have to carry her everywhere.”

Angela laughs at her then, warm and loving and beautiful, and it’s moments like these that make Fareeha fall in love all over again. Makes her promise outrageous things, do outrageous things, just because of the way her heart lifts when Angela smiles.

“I wish I was out there with you,” she says quietly. Fareeha had never considered herself a very affectionate person, but Angela had managed to slip past whatever instinct still makes Fareeha stiffen when Lena throws her arms around her. Angela had somehow rewritten the rules just for her, and her absence is at times a physical ache.  
Angela softens further, her fingertips brushing the screen. “As much as I would like that, you’d hate it. You’d be standing around bored out of your mind and complaining that you could be doing something useful.” She combs her fingers through her hair with a sigh, fondness and exasperation mixed in her expression, a combination that Fareeha is very used to. “But there’s always something for a doctor to do.”  
“I know you wouldn’t have it any other way.” She can’t argue the point because they both know that Angela has the right of it. Their desire to help, to act, is one of the things that binds them together so strongly.

Angela glances at the clock. “I should go; it’s another early morning tomorrow. And one of you should’ve been in bed already.”  
“I like to stay up past my bedtime.”  
Angela’s eyes laugh at her. “Don’t carry her everywhere. Let her practice.” With a shake of her head, she stops Fareeha’s objection before it can start. “If she walks before I’m back, record it and send it to me. And then when I’m home I’ll curl up on the couch and watch you chase after her and laugh until I can’t breathe. Okay?”  
Before Fareeha can answer, Nadia bounces in Fareeha’s lap and babbles excitedly as if agreeing.  
“Looks like I’m outvoted,” Fareeha says with a mock sigh. She meets Angela’s eyes, missing her already. “Goodnight _schätz_ ,” she says quietly. She’d called Nadia _häsli_ once when she scrunched up her nose at a meal, and she still hasn’t recovered from the look Angela gave her.  
It’s the look that’s back in Angela’s eyes now, an unabashed love that makes Fareeha forget words in every language. “Sleep well, _ya amar_.”

 

 

When five days later the door opens and Angela steps inside, Fareeha still hasn’t had cause to send her a video. So she takes Nadia’s hands in her own, walking slightly stooped as she supports her daughter’s wobbly steps toward Angela. The doctor crouches, holding her hands out with a smile, as Fareeha stops just a few feet away, releasing Nadia’s hands and holding her breath.

But Nadia, blissfully ignorant of the moment and Fareeha’s hopes, immediately lets herself fall onto her hands and knees, crawling her way forward in her impatient excitement to see her other mom again.

Angela scoops her up and stands, kissing Nadia’s hands and cheeks as the girl talks nonsense to her, giggling madly. When she’s had enough she presses her face to Angela’s shoulder, and Fareeha shrugs as Angela’s eyes find hers.  
“We tried,” she says, and when Angela just holds one arm out to her, Fareeha gladly closes the distance between them and embraces her.

—

“Are you sure it’s alright?” Fareeha asks, sneaking a peek around the corner to where Nadia is absorbed in whatever she was building with her blocks. “She could have a few words by now.”  
“She could, but it’s perfectly normal that she doesn’t,” Angela answers patiently, not looking up from her book. “She’s very vocal. And she clearly understands certain words, even if she hasn’t said them yet.  
“But-“

“Fareeha, _bärli_.” Angela stresses the term as she looks up. “How many languages does she hear on a daily basis? I’m not worried about her speaking. I’m worried that she’ll start speaking five languages at once.”  
She pauses, thinking, knowing that Angela is not usually prone to exaggeration. “Okay. English, Arabic, Swiss German - what are the other two?”

“Aleks baby talks her in Russian at every opportunity,” Angela laughs, remembering walking in on Aleks lying on the floor, holding Nadia above her head and cooing at her. “And Hanzo speaks to her in Japanese.” He’d been sitting at the table next to her highchair, offering her finely cut carrots, talking quietly as she watched him with big eyes, seeming as serious as he did.

“Probably just doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he’s saying,” Fareeha says with a smile.  
Angela nods, remembering the quiet smile he’d had when Nadia had gravely accepted a piece of carrot from his fingers. For a man who could seem so stand-offish, he had a surprisingly open heart. “I think you’re right.”

“Well then.” Fareeha cracks her shoulders and shoots a grin at Angela. “I’m going to give her a little encouragement.”  
Amused, Angela follows after Fareeha, watching as she kneels next to their daughter.  
“Nadia? Can you do me a favor?” She waits until Nadia looks at her before leaning down with a wink in Angela’s direction. “Say ‘justice’ for me. Jus-tice.”

Angela stalks over to the couch and mimes throwing a pillow at her, and Fareeha laughs. Nadia laughs as well, then pushes herself to her feet and raises her hands into the air expectantly.  
Fareeha smiles as she puts her hands on Nadia’s sides, recognizing the sign for one of the girl’s favorite games. “Up?”  
“Up!”

Fareeha freezes, staring at the child who seems confused by her mother’s sudden refusal to play.  
“Up!” Nadia demands again, stretching her hands up even higher, and Angela bites her lip to hide the full extent of her smile as Fareeha stands swiftly, whisking Nadia into the air above her head as the girl shrieks with laughter. They repeat this several times before Nadia allows herself to be cradled to Fareeha’s chest, the soldier hugging her as tightly as she dares.  
“That’s my girl,” she murmurs to her, walking over to Angela who is promising herself that the words _I told you so_ will not pass her lips. “I’m surrounded by women who enjoy pulling the rug out from under me.”  
“May you always be so lucky,” Angela tells her and steals a kiss before she can form a retort.


	4. contact

Angela sighs heavily, a rare note of defeat creeping into her tone as she admits, “I’m out of ideas.” Nadia is fussing in her arms, the way she has been for what feels like half the evening, her mood untouched by all of their efforts. She’s refused her bottle and had an unnecessary diaper change; even Fareeha can’t calm the crying with her singing. So Angela’s walking the room for the hundredth rotation, Nadia soothed neither by the motion or by the blanket swaddling her.

She looks to where Fareeha is sitting on the couch, her eyes closed, having claimed that she was getting dizzy just watching Angela pace. But she’s still, unmoving, in that way that Angela recognizes as her trying to recall a memory in perfect detail. It’s the way she stands when asked to report after a mission, before she rattles off times and movements and actions as if she was replaying a game of chess in her head.

Angela stops (Nadia doesn’t seem to notice or care) and waits, and her patience is rewarded by Fareeha sitting forward with tired eyes but a hopeful smile. “There’s something my mother told me about,” she says. “Could you take her out of the blanket? Down to her diaper?”

If it’ll help, she’s willing to try just about anything. Still, it comes as a shock to her when Fareeha reacts to her nod by putting her hands at the bottom of her shirt and pulling it off in one smooth motion. “Fareeha?”

“Trust me,” she answers with a smile, draping the shirt over the back of the couch. “If this works, you can do it next time. If it doesn’t, I look like an idiot instead.” Her hands are now behind her back, working on the clasp of her bra, and Angela turns away, untucking the blanket and removing the sleeper shirt (wishful thinking, apparently) that Nadia was wearing.

When she returns to the side of the couch, Fareeha is completely topless, holding her hands out for Nadia. “She said skin to skin contact helped,” she murmurs as she takes their daughter and lies back with her cradled to her chest. “And hearing her heartbeat.”

Angela watches with no small amount of wonder as Nadia finally calms, pressing herself against Fareeha as if the past hour had never happened. “She meant you,” she says, a statement rather than a question. “Ana meant that helped you calm down.”

“Yeah.” Fareeha runs a finger over the top of Nadia’s head fondly. “Like mother, like daughter, I guess.” She laughs softly, obviously not wanting to disturb the child nestled against her.

Angela feels her throat tighten as she sits by Fareeha’s legs, looking up at the pair. That word - daughter - still sends a thrill through her, anticipation and joy and anxiety all in one. She’s still getting used to Jesse teasingly calling her “Mom” and Reinhardt’s well-intentioned advice. But hearing Fareeha say it is another matter altogether, just like how both her and Nadia are beautiful but together they become something that takes Angela’s breath away.

They’re her family. She has a family again, and it soothes an ache that even her closest friends had never been able to touch fully.

“I recognize that look,” Fareeha says quietly, interrupting Angela’s thoughts. “That’s how you looked on the night we decided to adopt her.”

“Maybe… maybe someday we should talk about siblings.” Not yet. Not while they’re still figuring all of this out. Not while they’re still so entrenched in Overwatch, while the world still needs them. But that’s what she’d thought about Nadia, and she doesn’t regret that decision for a second, even tonight.

“What were you thinking?” Fareeha asks, openly and without reservation. She smiles, adding, “Since I don’t know how long I have to stay here.”

A sudden surge of mischief seizes Angela, something she can indulge in herself around Fareeha, who loves her, who respects her. Around whom she doesn’t always have to be the hyper competent doctor with a solution to every problem. “I want ten.”

“No.”

The immediate denial makes Angela giggle helplessly, each glance at Fareeha’s mock stern expression setting her off again. Distantly, she’s aware that the exhaustion and relief aren’t helping her self-control any, but it feels good to just let go. She leans into the couch, Fareeha’s legs behind her pressing into the small of her back, and smiles up at the ceiling as she brings herself back under control.

Fareeha nudges her with a foot to get her attention. “We will talk,” she promises.

“Yes, but-“ Angela pauses, reaching out, letting her hand rest on Fareeha’s stomach, her fingers brushing Nadia’s foot. And it’s _right_ , it _fits_ , to be here with her family. There’s still so much to learn, to discover, to do. So many more things that her nanotech can accomplish. But she feels complete within herself. Stable, like the ground under her feet has evened out. “Even if she’s all we ever have,” Angela says slowly, feeling the words out as she speaks and knowing the rightness of them, “It’s enough. It’s more than enough.”

By the slow smile that graces Fareeha's face, she knows she feels the same.


	5. obligatory halloween chapter

She wakes to silence, and Fareeha keeps her eyes closed at first, savoring the feeling of waking up slowly instead of being jolted awake by an alarm - either mechanical or human. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before letting her eyes drift open, only to find bright blue eyes watching her.  
Angela presses a finger to her lips briefly, then shifts closer, nuzzling into Fareeha’s neck, and Fareeha smiles into the kiss she places on top of blonde hair. Their quiet times together have gotten fewer and farther between, stolen in moments like this, and they’re both loathe to break the silence. They speak in simple gestures, love and affection clear in Angela’s lips on her throat and in her fingers splayed across Angela’s back, between her shoulders.

The alarm blares into life behind her, and Angela reacts first, rising up onto her elbow and reaching over Fareeha to silence it. Not that it matters when they can immediately hear feet pounding across the floor toward their bedroom. “At least she waited,” Fareeha murmurs with a grin, hooking her arm around Angela and pulling her down on top of her. Angela laughs, pressing her forehead to Fareeha’s.  
“She’s a good kid,” she says, but anything else she might have added is lost in the human whirlwind that races inside and throws itself into the bed, burrowing into the covers.  
Fareeha wraps her other arm around Nadia and pulls her up next to Angela, and they each kiss their daughter’s cheek as Nadia giggles between them.  
“Did you have a good night?” Angela asks, smoothing down her sleep-ruffled hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to tuck you in.” It had been another long night for the doctor; even Fareeha had eventually climbed into bed alone.  
“Mama did it,” Nadia tells her, settling her head against Fareeha’s shoulder. “And she scared away the monster.”  
“Did she?” Angela glances at Fareeha with a small smile. “I bet she did a good job.”  
“Yeah!”

Fareeha bites back a smile as she listens to the exchange, and tightens her hold around Angela’s waist when she tries to pull away slightly. She always worries about crushing Fareeha, but Fareeha likes holding her and Nadia like this. Their weight is solid and warm, always a comfort.

Ana had always objected to Fareeha following in her footsteps; she’d continually ask a teenaged Fareeha just _why_ she wanted to fight. Insisted on knowing what possible reason Fareeha could have.  
 _Because someone has to,_ Fareeha had always responded. _Because that’s what you taught me._ It had never been a good enough answer.  
When Ana had returned to Overwatch, they’d had the discussion - not argument this time - again, and that time Fareeha was better prepared. _Because someone has to,_ she’d said again, holding up a hand as Ana started to growl. _Because everyone deserves someone watching out for them. Because everyone deserves protection and safety. Because the only people who should be touched by war are those who choose to be. Because the world can still be better, and I have to do everything I can to make sure that happens._

“Mama!” A loud voice interrupts her drifting thoughts, and Fareeha refocuses on the two people in her arms.  
“Yes _habibti_? What is it?”  
“I wanna play on the swings with you.”  
“Please,” Angela prompts her gently.  
“Please,” Nadia repeats, and Fareeha smiles at her.  
“Of course. But first we have to clean up and change out of pajamas and eat breakfast and then we can go play.”

With a yelp over the impossibly long seeming (to a toddler) list, Nadia races out of the room as quickly as she first appeared. Angela shakes her head fondly as she rises. “I’ll go after her; you take first shower.”

Fareeha sits up, wincing slightly as her feet touch the cold floor, but it’s the only minor flaw to the morning.

Ana hasn’t asked her about her reasons for fighting in quite some time. Probably because they both know the first two names that would leave Fareeha’s lips. 

 

—

 

Fareeha slips through the crowd of costumed people, dodging furniture and decorations as she makes her way to the kitchen. There, as indicated, she finds Angela, her back to the door as she checks on the large pot simmering away on the stove.

She slips behind her, sliding one hand under the plaid shirt and onto her stomach, pulling her back flush with her chest and lightly raking her teeth across Angela’s neck.  
“What sharp teeth you have,” she says with a smile in her voice.  
She moves her lips to Angela’s ear to murmur, “All the better to-“ She interrupts herself with a quiet laugh as Angela tenses against her.

But Angela turns in her arms with a quiet huff. “I think this wolf costume has gotten to you,” she says, poking her in the chest. “I won’t thank you for teasing me.”  
“Except Mom’s going to watch Nadia tonight.” Fareeha tells her with a smile that grows as Angela’s arms wind around her neck.  
“She’s going to ply her with so much candy,” Angela mutters before kissing Fareeha. She pulls back with her head tilted toward the crowd noise from outside the door but a brightness to her eyes, and Fareeha can’t help but grin.  
“Do you really mind?”  
“Not tonight.” Angela turns away long enough to switch the stove off, then twines her fingers through Fareeha’s. “If we’re going to leave the party early, we should mingle now.”  
“Who said anything about leaving early?” Fareeha teases as she follows Angela out of the kitchen.  
“I did,” Angela replies firmly.

Fareeha’s laughter turns the heads closest to them, and she returns Lena’s wave and shrugs off Aleks’s knowing smirk. Hana appears in front of them, one hand propped on a hip, the other pointed accusingly at them.  
“I cannot wait,” she declares, “until Nadia is old enough to choose her own costume and won’t go along with these group themes of yours.”  
“Actually,” Angela starts, and Fareeha sighs and braces herself, knowing exactly where this is going, “I wanted Nadia to be the wolf. She insisted on being Red Riding Hood.”  
Hana stares at the doctor, then throws her hands into the air. “I can’t even deal with you. You’re so cute it’s disgusting.”  
“I know,” Fareeha says, and Hana flips her off as she stalks away.

“You do look great,” Fareeha continues, but Angela wrinkles her nose at her.  
“I’m wearing jeans and flannel, _schatz_. It doesn’t exactly measure up to my other costumes.”  
“I still think-“

They turn the corner, and Fareeha’s head is still turned, watching Angela. So she feels the impact against her temple, just a quick sting as something hits her and bounces away. She whips her head around to find Ana seated on the couch with Nadia on her lap and a nerf gun pointed toward Fareeha.  
“You see, _habibti_? Grandma will protect you.”  
As Angela hides laughter, Nadia looks up at them with concern. “Mama?”  
“I’m fine. Your Grandma wouldn’t hurt me,” Fareeha reassures her, kneeling by the couch so that Nadia can see her more clearly. She isn’t expecting Nadia to lean forward and kiss her temple before pulling back with a proud smile.  
“Kisses make it better!” she declares, something she’s latched onto after hearing it from Angela after a scraped knee.

“I’m sure Angela will kiss it better too,” Ana murmurs with a wicked smile, and though both Fareeha and Angela sputter, Nadia nods vigorously.  
“Good,” she says, and then everyone jumps as a voice booms out unexpectedly.

“Look at this! Three generations of Amari women. Sit, sit! Let’s take a picture!” Reinhardt roars with laughter, then points commandingly at the couch. “Angela, your spot is there. No hiding!”  
Fareeha looks up with surprise, noting that Angela had stepped away from the couch, but Nadia reaches out to her before Fareeha can.

They sit and smile through Reinhardt’s repeated pictures (“One more!”), and then he steals Nadia to go show her something happening on the other side of the room. As Fareeha is blinking away the last flash, she sees Ana rest a hand on Angela’s shoulder, preventing her from rising.  
“If you ever try to dodge another family portrait, Dr. Ziegler, I will do something I can’t say in front of Nadia.”  
“Yes Ana,” Angela says, but even in that short phrase there is a small waver of composure.  
“Good. Now enjoy your evening, and we’ll see you first thing in the morning. Bright and early,” she cackles, then rises to join the others.

Fareeha just holds her hand out for Angela and feels the strength in her hand and the sureness of her grip, and knows she doesn’t have to say anything else.

Though multiple people see them leave, no one stops them.


	6. shiner

_I’m late._

Fareeha paces in the transport, as if that could make the thing fly any faster. The Raptora is already stripped and stowed, the gleaming metal exchanged for civilian clothes. At a burst of laughter, she looks over at where Hana has also changed out of her combat suit into her flowing blue Overwatch uniform, and an idea glimmers in her mind.

“Captain Song,” she calls, and Hana excuses herself, joining Fareeha with an informal two-fingered salute.  
“Commander,” the young woman greets her. “What’s up?”  
“I’d like you to handle the after action reports and the agent debriefings. Routine patrol, shouldn’t be any surprises. If you run into any trouble, just call me.”  
Hana blinks at the rapid fire instructions, and Fareeha suppresses a smile. It’s good to know that she can still occasionally catch her young friend off guard.

But never for long; Hana glances at her outfit and then at her watch, and now it’s Hana who’s grinning openly. “You’re late,” she says in a sing-song tone.  
“I know,” Fareeha sighs. “So please-“  
“The reports and the debriefings, got it.” Hana props her hands on her hips, openly looking over Fareeha. “You need to delegate more anyway. Get some more rest. You look tired.”  
Fareeha chuckles at the jab. “When you’re lurking in the wings, planning on taking over?”  
“First Overwatch, then the world,” Hana quips, then stands at attention and gives Fareeha a more proper salute. “I’ll take it from here, Commander. Go enjoy the rest of your day.”

With a nod, Fareeha returns the salute and then to her pacing.

—

She strides across the field, heading for the bleachers and the familiar hat she can see seated to one side. A few scattered shouts and the thump of a ball being kicked grow louder as she approaches, scanning the field for a familiar blonde head.  
“Jesse,” she says by way of greeting as she stops next to him.  
“You’re late.”  
“ _I know._ ”

He turns to grin at her annoyed tone, then gestures to the game. “Almost to the second half, still scoreless. Only a matter of time though, they’ve been pressing hard.” He pauses, watching as two players duel for the ball. “Think I’m starting to like this soccer thing.”  
Fareeha bites back the automatic correction of ‘football’, knowing that Jesse only does it to annoy the rest of them (poor Lucio has developed a twitch over it). “Thanks for bringing her over.”  
“No problem. It’s why I’m the cool uncle.”

The ball goes out of bounds for a corner kick, and as they’re setting up Fareeha puts two fingers up to her lips and whistles loudly. The parents and teams are used to it, only a few people even turning to look at the habitual late comer (if only she could convince the world to schedule around her daughter’s games), but there is one player on the field who turns excitedly, one hand raised in a wave, smiling widely-

And with one eye swollen almost shut.

Nadia quickly realizes just what has caused her mother’s brow to quirk and turns back toward the ball, her shoulders setting visibly even as Fareeha leans over to Jesse.  
“Last night, you said everything was alright.”  
“Everything is alright.”  
“Then why does my daughter have a black eye?”  
Jesse sighs and leans back, his hands behind his head. “Ah, that.”  
“Yes, that.” Fareeha’s now watching him more than the game, wondering why he’s being so coy and just who he’s protecting. Her first thought is a workshop incident - Nadia has a love of tinkering, one that the many Overwatch engineers are too happy to indulge, showing her things and encouraging her projects. She’ll never forget Junkrat’s sheepish expression from several years ago when something they were doing exploded in their faces, leaving Nadia with three quarters of an eyebrow, and how quickly that expression turned into shared delight as Nadia laughed and exclaimed over how cool it all was. It’d been impossible to stay mad at them. “Who blew what up this time?”

Jesse posture doesn’t change, nor does his gaze wander from the game. “Happened at school, actually.”

What.

“ _Jesse,_ ” she insists, and hears her own mother in that exasperated, slightly scolding tone. She winces and nudges him gently, getting him to scoot over so she can sit next to him, though she leans forward with her arms on her knees. “Sorry. Not trying to go all ‘Mama Bear’ on you.”  
He chuckles at that, meeting her eyes, and sometimes it’s hard to look at his easy grin and remember he’s one of the most dangerous men she knows. She’d teased him once for the way he’d doted over Nadia, telling him he should just get one of his own if he was going to be so attached, and he’d just shaken his head at her. _I’m too screwed up to be a dad,_ he’d said, and she’d wished she could do more than just squeeze his shoulder, trying to convey all the things she didn’t have words for.

“I’ll let her tell you the whole story. But some guys were picking on a classmate of hers and she stepped in, told ‘em off.”  
“With her fists?”  
“Nah. Oh yeah, her principal told me our girl’s not allowed to call folks assholes at school. Told him I had no idea where she could’ve learned such fucking language.”

With a laugh, Fareeha shakes her head. Knowing Jesse, that story could be completely true, but was also just as likely to be made up. Still, she got the message: Nadia hadn’t made it physical, her daughter wasn’t suspended (and thus Angela wouldn’t murder both of them) and everything is alright. Jesse’s correct, after all. The rest of this conversation is one she should have with her daughter.

When the final whistle blows, Jesse excuses himself. Fareeha waits to one side, watching Nadia celebrate with her teammates and say goodbye to her coaches, wondering if her daughter isn’t drawing it out a bit longer than usual. She smiles as Nadia finally approaches with some trepidation, obviously unsure of her reception until Fareeha holds her arms out to her. Then Nadia smiles and hugs her gladly, not even protesting when Fareeha kisses her cheek in public.  
“Missed you,” Fareeha says as they draw apart.  
“Missed you,” Nadia parrots back, then grins. “Especially at the start of the game.”  
“Mhmm.” Really, sometimes Nadia spends too much time with Ana. But not enough. Fareeha grew up with Ana; she’s got the sass down better. She tilts Nadia’s chin up, inspecting the black eye. “You know, I thought I taught you better than this.” Nadia deflates so fast that Fareeha almost regrets the setup, quickly smirking at her daughter and putting the hand on her shoulder. “If you completely forgot how to dodge, I’ll remind you in the gym tomorrow morning.”

Nadia’s shoulders slump in relief, and she starts for the car with a muttered, “Not funny, Mama. Besides,” she continues, a bit more loudly, “it was an accident. I came up from behind them and when one turned around he clipped me with an elbow.” Fareeha can see her grimace at the memory, as annoyed as either of her mothers at a minor mistake. “I just got too close.”  
“What even happened?”  
“They were picking on Ren-“ a kid in Nadia’s grade, Fareeha quickly reminds herself, “-because their dad’s an Omnic.”  
_Oh._ Fareeha digests this as she gets into the car, waiting for Nadia to throw her bag into the back before getting in the passenger side. “That’s why you called them assholes?” She smiles to herself as Nadia fidgets in the seat.  
“That’s why they turned around so quickly. I said that at least we knew our parents chose us because we’re not assholes.”

Fareeha can’t help herself, chuckling out loud as she starts the car. “I don’t know - you were pretty fussy as a baby.”  
Nadia makes a face at her, then leans back into the seat. “Anyway, a teacher was already coming over and so she saw everything.”  
“Last question: why didn’t you have someone heal your eye?”

Nadia’s silence lasts long enough that Fareeha glances over at her, surprised by the serious look on the teenager’s face. “I didn’t want people to think I take it lightly, you know? Like, oh Nadia, she just throws herself into things cause she doesn’t have to deal with the consequences. I mean, it still hurts when it happens. And I didn’t want people thinking that I can get away with stuff just because I’m your daughter - yours and Mom’s.” She waves a hand in Fareeha’s direction. “I don’t need to be any different than I already am.”

Fareeha’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, remembering what it was like as a teenager, growing up with the weight of her mother’s legacy. She and Angela had done their best not to do the same to Nadia, but of course some was inevitable. It still bothered her, to know her daughter was dealing with some of those same issues, even as proud as she was at Nadia’s reasoning. And a bit startled at how mature her daughter as already become. _Has time really gone by that fast?_

“What’re you thinking?”  
Fareeha forces a smile, shooting a wink at her daughter. “I was just expecting you to say that some girl found it dashing.”  
“Mama,” Nadia says, switching to Arabic, the language a kind of signal between them. They spoke in a number of languages, and Arabic quite a bit, but when Nadia wanted what she called ‘serious time’ she always chose Arabic. “What’s really going on?”  
“Just like any other parent,” Fareeha responds in the same language. “I’m wondering if we could’ve done better by you.”  
“I mean, some of it is a pain. You guys insisting I have a panic button when I go to camp and stuff kinda sucks. Knowing I might need it really sucks. But I’ve gotten to see all these different places and I’m friends with all these cool people.” Nadia looks down at her hands, but Fareeha can hear the smile in her voice. “And I guess you and Mom are okay too.”  
“There’s still time to send you to boarding school, you know.”  
“Ew, no thanks.”

They travel in silence, both thinking until Fareeha parks at their house. Nadia unbuckles the seat belt but doesn’t move, and Fareeha waits patiently for whatever her daughter is working towards. “I’m okay, Mama. At least, I think I’m okay.”  
Fareeha reaches over to hug her a bit awkwardly, one arm around her shoulders. “You’re definitely okay. Maybe even good.”

They’re climbing out of the car when Nadia’s voice stops her at the door. “Hey Mama? Why did you choose me? I did just get left at the door.”

Fareeha turns to her, tempted to tease her, to say it was just to get Ana to stop bugging them for grandchildren. But no, she can see in those dark blue eyes that it’s not that mundane a question. And no, it’s not like they’d gone looking for a child. She and Angela had talked about it, but more vaguely, a distant future type thing, to be gotten to someday. But then Nadia _had_ appeared, and maybe it was just the right time. Maybe it was just how cute she’d been, and how much Angela had enjoyed holding her. Maybe it was just the time they’d shared, the ability to really see the future, to know that this was what it would be like. Maybe it was how Nadia’s hair almost matched Angela’s, or the serious way she looked at Fareeha.

Maybe Nadia was just everything they’d wanted, even if they hadn’t quite known it yet.

Fareeha walks toward her daughter, taking her gym bag and putting it aside to hug her properly. “Because you were perfect,” she says quietly.  
“And now?”  
Fareeha breathes a laugh, pulling her closer, cradling her head against her shoulder as she feels Nadia trembling. “Now you’re an Amari. Same thing.”  
Nadia laughs, a little wetly, and Fareeha feels no need to mention the tears she can feel on her shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine all the Amaris being such shits to each other most of the time.


	7. Extended Family (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, there will be a part 2 featuring more of the team. I just didn't want this chapter to stretch even longer than it is.

The weight on his shoulder and back is unusual, the gentle pressure against his chest unfamiliar. But none of it is uncomfortable, or unwelcome.

Zenyatta glances down at the infant, snug and secure in the sling that cradles her against him. It’s taken some trial and error to perfect the process; now he knows to put a warm bottle in the sling first, to counter the coolness of his body. Otherwise it takes Nadia some time to quiet down - now she snuggles into him from the first moment, content to watch him with curious eyes.

It moves him, to realize how she seems to trust him without doubt, despite his being Omnic, despite his smooth chest and lack of heartbeat. How willingly she reaches for the things that he shows her (though he has learned to be careful with that, as most things she grasps end up in her mouth). It reminds him that hatred is something learned, and that lessons can always be unlearned, even if the process is painful.

He only wishes he could smile at her, the way the others do when they see them together and say hello. They smile at her and she smiles right back, lighting up at such a small gesture.

But he learns this too, eventually, when he puts two fingers up to his face, mimicking the curve of lips. And Nadia giggles at him and reaches for the hand, and he allows her to wrap her little fingers around one of his.

(She promptly tries to chew on it, and when he laughs she beams up at him with nothing of fear in her eyes.)

—

Torbjörn likes to complain that he’s raised enough daughters, thank you very much, so he doesn’t need to participate in yet another child’s life.

It doesn’t stop Angela’s polite request and quick kiss to his cheek from being enough to convince him to watch Nadia, however, no matter how many times it happens. “At least one Amari is well behaved,” he grumbles when he shows up at the door to their quarters, and Fareeha laughs the loudest before Torbjörn ushers them out the door.

When he turns back, he sees Nadia watching the door with some apprehension, but as he smiles at her she greets him with a jumble of sounds. He’s sure one or two actual words were in there, but most of it is in her own language and completely incomprehensible. “Where are your blocks?” he asks, and the question distracts her from her parents’ absence enough that she doesn’t fuss over anything more than making sure he follows her.

“Build ‘em up,” he tells her in the middle of their play session, and she giggles, knowing the part (her favorite part) that comes next. “And break ‘em down,” he says, and Nadia barrels through the small wall that they’ve built together, scattering the blocks everywhere. She looks to him, eyes bright, waiting for his approval, and it sends a sudden twist through his stomach. “Good job,” he tells her, and she grins, innocent to his gruffer tone.

He can’t help but think of his own children, of course. He even thinks of Bastion, those first few weeks, when the Omnic was still trying to acclimate to life around Overwatch. But most of all, in that moment, he remembers Angela from her university days. Already so brilliant, already making a name for herself, but still so unsure in some ways. Still hurting from the loss of her parents. He could never replace the family she’d lost, never be the father she missed. But he’d done everything he could for her, encouraged her when and how he could, advised on the Valkyrie and a hundred smaller projects.

With a glance at the clock he stands with a groan for his stiff legs and shepards Nadia along to get ready for bed. As he turns out the lights in her room, he thinks about Fareeha and Angela, out on a date rather than on a mission, and hopes that Nadia never looks at him like Angela did.

He meets them in the hallway when he hears their steps and soft voices, carefully keeping the door closed behind him. “She’s asleep,” he reports. “And I left the cleaning up to you two.”

“More than fair,” Fareeha says with a smile. “Thank you for tonight.”

His wordless smirk makes the pilot’s eyes narrow, and he accepts Angela’s squeeze of his hand as Fareeha opens the door.

“What the-!” she exclaims, taking in the state of their quarters, and Torbjörn laughs all the way back to his room.

—

“Up you go!”

Nadia squeals in delight as she’s hoisted easily into the air and set on Aleksandra’s shoulders, two large hands resting easily on her shins to help balance her. “Look how tall I am!” she exclaims, drawing amused smiles from several of the adults around and a giggle from Mei.

“I’m very jealous,” the scientist reassures her, her eyes dropping from Nadia’s delighted smile to Aleksandra’s matching grin.

“It can be your turn next,” Aleksandra adds with a wink, making Mei flush. No matter how many years they’ve been together, she still finds herself with red-tipped ears on a regular basis. It’s a good thing, a wonderful thing, a fact that makes her fidget with the zipper of her coat even as she leads the other two toward the zoo entrance.

They wander the exhibits with no real purpose. Mei and Aleksandra share a private smile at Nadia’s wonder in the bird house, how she excitedly points out each one that flies past. They linger in front of the bears as Aleksandra regales her passenger (and most of the surrounding crowd) with her story of actually wrestling one once while in the army. They find themselves near the penguins next, and when Nadia giggles over how they look, Mei doesn’t even think before she says, “You know, one of the first written accounts we have of penguins calls them ‘strange geese.’”

Aleksandra laughs at that, and Nadia’s looking at her with something like awe. “Really?”

“Really.” And when Aleksandra looks at her, Mei adds, with a roll of her eyes. “I lived in Antartica. _Everyone_ wanted to know about penguins.”

“Do not ask about penguins,” Aleksandra says firmly, then tilts her head upward. “Got that, little bird?”

“Got it!” Her reply is enthusiastic enough, even if her face shows mostly confusion. “Can we… can we ask about other things?”

Mei nods, tempering the way Nadia bounces on Aleksandra’s shoulders with a cautious, “But there’s a lot I don’t know…”

As it turns out, that doesn’t seem to matter to Nadia that much as they continue slowly ambling about the zoo. She’s delighted with whatever Mei has to offer, even the moment in the amphibian house when Mei realizes she’s been talking much too long and much too fast about how frogs are being impacted by climate change. She stops abruptly, but Nadia is watching her raptly, Aleksandra with a soft, fond smile on her face. Neither one of them seem bored, or annoyed, or like they’re only indulging her until she runs out of steam. She returns their attention with her own shy smile. “And that’s enough of that for now,” she says.

“Then that,” Aleksandra says before Nadia can protest, “means it is time for ice cream.”

Nadia falls asleep during the ride back, with the lion plush they’d bought her held tight against her chest. “Today was wonderful,” Mei sighs as she pulls the car into the hangar, parking but not yet getting out.

“Yes, it was,” Aleksandra answers her, and there’s another one of those quiet smiles. “Let us return the little bird to her nest, then we will have a wonderful evening as well.”

—

She’s trying to follow the coin, really she is, but it’s difficult when Lucio flashes her that smile and laughs. “Keep up now,” he teases as the coin flashes in one palm, then is suddenly twirled between the fingers of his other hand.

Biting her lip, Nadia narrows her eyes and watches, trying to discern exactly what he’s doing. He notices her attention and speeds up, his hands moving impossibly fast until the coin seems just a blur. A blur which disappears, though his hands continue to move until she meets his eyes accusingly. “You don’t even have it anymore.”

Again he laughs, slowing down to show her two empty hands, twisting them to show her both sides. “Absolutely right. You’ve got it right now.” And he reaches to the side of her head, fingers brushing her ear before he pulls back, the coin grasped firmly between his thumb and index finger.

She fights a smile but loses when she looks up at Lucio; his delight is contagious, and it was a very well done routine. Gently she takes the coin from him, turning it over in her fingers, trying to tuck it into her palm like she’s sure he must’ve.

“Like this,” he says, and his fingers gently arrange the coin and her hand just so, the coin held just underneath her fingers, higher on her palm than she’d been expecting. Nadia waves her hand about gently, testing how secure her grip is, then nods to herself, smiling. Maybe this was the piece she’s been missing - maybe, knowing this fundamental trick will let her figure out how he does the rest of it. She offers him the coin back.

“Would you do it again?”

But he shakes his head, smile never faltering. “Oh no. A magician can’t reveal all of his secrets. And I know that look.”

“What?” That comment throws her off, takes her careful arguments (consisting of _please_ and _pretty please_ ) to die on her lips. “What look?”

“That one you had just now,” Lucio says and then, upon seeing her confusion, clarifies, “You look just like your moms. That’s how Angela looks while in the lab, or Fareeha at her workbench. When they’re working on a puzzle that they’ve just gotta solve.” He tweaks her nose and she scrunches it back at him, pretending to pout at him. Really, he’s stirred something light and fluttery in her chest, something almost panicked feeling that she doesn’t want to focus on right now, and his laughter is a wonderful distraction. “There! No being so serious about it. It’s _magic_ , Nadia.”

“Hey Lucio!”

The DJ looks over his shoulder. “Uh oh,” he says, but his tone is bright and cheerful, and he ruffles Nadia’s hair just to get her to make another face at him. “I’ll be in trouble if I’m late. Gotta run!” He skates off, but turns to wave to her over his shoulder and call out, “Maybe I’ll show you the rest later!”

Nadia waves back to him, then realizes that she still has the coin in her hand. She wonders if that was deliberate, something that he did to give to kids without seeming to actually give them money. It’s the sort of thing Lucio would do, she decides, trying to spin it around her fingers like he did. His is an unthinking generosity, like the way he tells a kid she’s similar to her two world-famous mothers, with no pressure, no expectation, with nothing but love.

—

When she’s younger her parents hand her - very deliberately - to Mako, and he’s the one who paints her nails when she asks and plays tea party with her and returns her to her mothers with her hair in a perfect french braid. And she loves him for his gentleness and his low rumbled laughter and his secret hoard of stuffed animals.

When she’s older she spends more and more time with Jamie; he’s the first one to give her unfettered access to his tools and his supplies (mostly because he’s interested to see what trouble they can get into) but for three weeks before her sixteenth birthday they spend time together in his strange smelling workshop, designing and building fireworks, and when he bumps her shoulder with his and laughs about lighting up the sky she can’t help but grin back.

They go off perfectly, bold and bright and beautiful, and the whole base watches the display.

Jamie, unfortunately, is so riled up after it’s over that he needs just more explosion, one more fix. And of course he rushes it and of course it misfires and they end up putting out a small fire in the grass and sending Jamie to the med bay. Nadia sits in as Angela treats Jamie’s burn, feeling too guilty to do anything but keep him company. But he only laughs at her and gives her a thumbs up, and Mako sits next to her and pats her back gently, and even her mom seems more lightly exasperated than annoyed.

“Hope this doesn’t ruin your birthday,” Mako says softly, voice lowered so the other two won’t hear over their ritual bickering about safety versus fun.

Nadia laughs a little, shakes her head. “He’s okay, so it’s okay.” And it is, really. Being the daughter of two prominent Overwatch members, spending most of her life tagging along from base to base - it’s difficult, sometimes. And weird most of the time. But it’s where she feels most welcome, most loved. She loved the smaller party she had with her friends over the weekend, pizza and movies and a whole lot of laughter, but there’s something about Jamie leaping up from his seat and sweeping her into a tight hug.

“We were glorious, weren’t we? Can’t wait to make it even bigger next year!” And he releases her just as suddenly, bounding out of the room with a cackle.

“Thank you,” Mako says to Angela, who acknowledges him with a smile before he also leaves, likely to keep Jamie out of any more trouble, and Nadia is left with her mom, guilt twisting slowly in her stomach for making her work on what was supposed to be a night off. Again. Like she’s often called on to do.

Arms wrap around her before she can travel too far down that road, cutting off her self-recrimination with a quick kiss to her cheek. “Having fun?” Angela asks, and Nadia relaxes into the hug, returning it without hesitation now.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, and Angela chuckles, squeezing her tighter for a moment before drawing away.

“Good.” She smiles fondly at her daughter for a moment, then puts her hand on top of her head, skimming it lightly forward to where it just brushes the top of Nadia’s head. “You’re outgrowing me,” she says lightly, her eyes giving away her amusement. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

The remaining tension drains from Nadia as she laughs. “Sorry, but I’m still trying to match Mama,” she says, but she’s unprepared for the way her mom tilts her head and brushes her fingers across her cheek.

“You will,” she says softly. “Maybe not in _height_ , but you will.”

Nadia’s trying to just get air back into her lungs, let alone respond coherently, when movement in the doorway catches both their attention. Had someone else gotten hurt?

Thankfully, it’s Fareeha, carefully cradling a plate that looks absolutely overloaded with cake. “So the fire scared some of the new cadets,” she explains as she enters the med bay and makes a beeline for Angela’s desk. “So Lena thought she’d distract them. With your birthday cake.” She puts the plate down, then glances over her shoulder with an apology in her eyes but a smirk pulling on her lips. “I fought off five of them with a fork to save these three slices.”

“You had to use a fork?” Nadia reacts first, grateful for her mama’s unknowing easing of the knot in her chest. “You must be losing your touch.”

Fareeha grips her shirt over her heart, amusement flashing across her face before she can mask it, and she turns resolutely to face Angela alone. “I fought off five of them with a fork to save these two slices for us.”

Angela laughs softly, squeezing Nadia’s arm before stepping forward. “Five of them? How very brave,” she teases, pressing herself upwards to kiss her wife, and Nadia bites her lip on a smile as she glances away. Her parents’ open and apparent love and affection could be embarrassing in public, but it’s always a reassurance in private. “And what about the third slice?” she hears Angela ask.

“That is for our wonderful daughter,” Fareeha responds, and Nadia looks back to meet brown eyes watching her. “Whenever she shows up.”

Nadia rolls her eyes, then steps forward in Fareeha’s arms and lets herself be enveloped in a hug. “Hi Mama,” she says. “Thanks for saving me cake.”

“Well, it is your cake,” Fareeha concedes, dropping a kiss on top of Nadia’s head and reminding the teenager that she still needs four more inches. Somehow. “Happy birthday.”

She’s released slowly, and she draws in a breath, listening to the commotion going on outside the base and looking between her parents. “Do you think…” she starts, and sees them both focus on her, “we could eat in here?”

“Of course,” Angela says immediately, as Fareeha offers them both a fork.

And maybe this isn’t how Nadia ever really imagined spending a birthday, eating cake from a shared plate as they stand around Angela’s med bay desk. And maybe the sharp scent of disinfectant takes away from the taste a little, but then Fareeha’s asking about how she made the fireworks and they’re off and running, topics blending into each other as they chat and laugh. And she’s here with her family, and really that’s all that Nadia wants.

She really, _really_ doesn’t want there to be any more accidents tonight.

Even if there are, apparently everyone thinks better of disturbing them.


	8. Extended Family (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Yeah, there'll be a part 3.

Satya doesn’t always like to be touched. So when she comes over to stay with Nadia, the two build a small nest on one end of the couch, letting Nadia snuggle into pillows and blankets with a stuffed animal or two. Satya sits on the other end of the couch and reads to her, and since Nadia can’t see any of the pictures, Satya does away with picture books. Instead she reads her longer books, ones about swords and magic, about children running away from home and living in a forest, about explorers trying to survive in new places, about a princess who decides she wants to work for a dragon.

Nadia loves it. She sits enraptured and presses her mouth against the plush in her arms to hide her yawns so that Satya won’t see and make her go to bed. And yet, somehow, Satya always does. She darkens the screen of the tablet and sets it aside with a finality that Nadia has learned cannot be argued with. No amount of “please”s or puppy dog eyes has ever gotten Satya to change her mind, so now when Satya rises from the couch Nadia is already standing, gathering the blankets in her arms and carrying them back to her room.

One night, after Nadia is resettled in her bed, Satya pauses at the door to her room. “I’ll be away for a while,” she says. “But I can send your parents the file and they can pick up where we-“

“No,” Nadia interrupts, shaking her head. Then she sees the startled look on Satya’s face and hesitates, her hands twisting in the blankets. “That’s our book,” she adds softly, looking down.

Gentle footsteps draw her attention back to the woman who now stands over the bed. Her hands smooth out the blanket from Nadia’s grip, twitching it back into place. “Then I’ll try not to make you wait too long,” Satya says finally. As Nadia smiles up at her, Satya seems to hesitate, then nods quietly at her. “Good night.”

“Night,” Nadia calls after her.

(And when Fareeha and Angela are late, when they were supposed to return the day before but are still out there fighting, when Nadia fights back tears at another night alone, then Satya reads to her, quietly, and directs her attention to the middle of the couch, where hard light figures act out the story. When the knight is victorious and lifts the visor of her helmet, the tattoo under her eye is so very familiar. When the witch looks up from under the brim of her hat, she has Angela’s smile. When they find the princess, she has Nadia’s face, and the girl finally lets herself cry as they return home together.)

—

Lena grips her hand a little tighter as they make the final turn onto her street. “Be good for her, yeah?” she says nervously, looking up at the apartment windows, missing the nod that Nadia gives her. “I mean-“ Lena stumbles over the words, free hand rubbing at the back of her head, “-not like that, you’re a good kid, but-“

Nadia stops abruptly, Lena taking another step before their joined hands tug her back, and she looks at her in surprise. Nadia squeezes her hand. “We’ll be fine,” she says quietly. “We’ve done this before.”

“Yeah,” Lena murmurs to herself, shoulders sagging for just a second before she gives Nadia a soft smile. “She really does like having you over. So give her at least two hugs a day. And if she gets sad, just kiss her all over her face. She always laughs when I do that.”

Hiding her smile, Nadia just tips her head to the side. “I think that’s cause it’s you,” she replies, and Lena laughs, her usual broad grin returning.

“You think?”

“I know,” Nadia says, and they finally make their way to the apartment door. Lena’s got the door unlocked in a flash, and Emily is waiting for them, her welcome interrupted when she catches sight of the backpack slung over Nadia’s shoulder.

“Is that everything you need?” she asks, and Nadia nods, hefting the weight of it up so Emily can see how full it is. She’s learned to keep a go bag of her own for situations like this, so she’s confident in her answer.

“Yup. Clothes, toothbrush, books, schoolwork. All set.”

With a quick, apologetic glance at Nadia, Lena slips between them, pulling Emily into a tight hug. “I have to run,” Nadia hears her say. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Emily’s saying just as softly, and Nadia turns away, walks into the sitting room and begins pulling out homework, the sounds drowning out their conversation: the only privacy she can offer them right now.

There’s a blink of blue light, a kiss pressed to her cheek, a whispered, “look after her for me,” and another blue flash before Lena’s cheerily waving from the doorway, disappearing through it a second later. Emily watches the closed door for a moment, and Nadia knows the ache that’s showing on her face. It’s only ever gotten harder for her to watch her parents leave, understanding more about the danger they face.

Watching Emily now, she doubts it’ll ever get easier.

“Help me with geometry?” she asks, and Emily looks at her for a moment before nodding with a smile. They both know that Nadia doesn’t really need the help, but Emily loves maths and they can easily get sucked into a conversation about planes and lines and proofs. Instead of watching the tv hoping for a glimpse of the Overwatch mission. Instead of waiting by the phone for news that their loved ones are safe.

—

The guilt doesn’t stop her from rapping lightly on the door, though Nadia does pull the blanket closer around her shoulders. And it doesn’t matter that her apology dies on her lips because as soon as the door opens Hana is pulling her inside.

They’ve done this enough that Nadia doesn’t mind the appraising way Hana looks her over, doesn’t do more than nod when Hana’s hands touch her shoulders in question, doesn’t have to say anything as she returns the hug. She does sigh as some of the tension leaves her, does pull back to give Hana a tight smile. And she says, “thank you,” rather than _I’m sorry_ , because the gratitude is stronger than the guilt.

“Couch?” Hana offers, and they collapse onto it, distance between them but not so much that it can’t be covered instantly, because they both prefer to have company but also their own space.

Because her parents are both in the medical ward, because her grandmother is finally sleeping.

Because Nadia couldn’t be strong anymore, but she couldn’t break down either.

Because when the transport had gone down and the comms cut out, Hana had been the one to spring into action, calling out orders and organizing the response. And the rescue.

Because she’d been the one to walk out of the flames, her MEKA cradling the limp bodies of her friends.

If they wanted to talk, they would go find Zenyatta, and Nadia knows that he will search her out in the next few days if she doesn’t find him first. And he will be kind and patient and understanding, and she’ll walk away from the conversation feeling better about things. But right now she needs the silence. And she needs Hana.

(She thinks that Hana might need her a little right now too.)

They both know what it’s like to be young around Overwatch, and all of the overprotective agents that work there. And they both know what it’s like to have to put on a good face: Hana always cheerful, always outgoing, always strong for her country and her followers. Nadia’s always unflappable, always unafraid, always calm for her family, for Overwatch, for the people who are also hurting and to whom she doesn’t want to be a burden.

Because everyone is hurting right now.

And the only ones who can see her parents right now (other than the medical staff) are herself and Ana, and maybe Nadia should still be there, but she couldn’t handle it anymore. Couldn’t stand to be in the too white room with the constant noise of the monitors and machines, watching how still her mama is or feeling how cool her mom’s hand is. If she stayed any longer she wouldn’t have been able to hold it all in, and nobody needed to hear her crying alone in the room or see her leaving it with red eyes.

But Hana is putting on a tv show that neither of them is really paying attention to, the rhythm of conversation and human voices helping to soften the silence and banish the memory of that white room. It’s a gentle sort of caring, one that prompts Nadia to unwind the blanket from her shoulders and offer half of it to Hana.

Who shakes her head gently, and Nadia curls back up, watching out of the corner of her eye as Hana lets out a long, slow breath. And she knows that she should remain here until news comes, if Hana will let her. Because Hana is close with her parents, especially Fareeha; Nadia has spent countless hours with them in the hangar as they work side by side on the Raptora and MEKA, bantering and teasing and sharing ideas and helping. And she’s seen how Hana likes to tease Angela, the pride in her smile when Angela laughs. Or how, despite the rolled eyes and disgruntled complaint, Hana will linger in Angela’s embrace longer than she’ll tolerate from anyone else.

Hana is the one who stopped by most often, when Nadia was younger and one of her parents was away.

Hana is family, and family should be together. When ( _when_ ) her parents wake up, someone will come find Nadia, and so Hana will be one of the first to know as well. Until then, Nadia knows that the tension won’t leave her completely, the same way that Hana’s stiff shoulders won’t relax. But the lump bottling up her throat is easing, the rolling of her stomach lessens, and Hana’s arms slowly drop from around her waist to rest more easily at her sides.

So they’re together. Not strong, not broken, just there. Present. Together.

It’s enough.

—

“Not that I ain’t flattered, but why’d you pick me for this?” 

Nadia smiles at Jesse as they walk down the street, dodging the other pedestrians and glancing into store windows as they near their destination. “Well, Satya looked like she was busy, so…”

“Ouch, kid.” But Jesse’s laughing; he’s always enjoyed the banter, always nudged Nadia to be more relaxed and informal with him. She’d called him Mr. McCree when she was younger, and every time he would look around the room in mock confusion, searching for the person she was talking to.

And that’s why she asked him to go shopping for her outfit. Because he’s gone out of his way to be kind to her, because he, out of all of the Overwatch agents that are part of her family, is the only one who’s really wanted to be called “Uncle”. She’s feeling a bit nervous about this already, and Satya, though she wouldn’t judge Nadia herself, would judge her taste and her choices. With Nadia already feeling a little frayed around the edges, it would’ve been too easy to take Satya’s comments the wrong way. Which wouldn’t have been fair to either of them.

“We’re here,” Jesse announces, interrupting her thoughts. 

“Oh, right. Yeah.” She’d been too caught up to pay attention; she’d almost walked right past it.

He opens the door for her and holds it, raising one eyebrow at her. “There’s no need to worry, y’know. It’s a suit. I know for a fact Fareeha’ll be wearing one, and Angie’s worn ‘em plenty of times before too.”

“It’s not that,” she says as she enters the tailor’s shop, and it isn’t. Yes, she’s worried about her appearance because she wants to make a good impression and because she’s never worn a suit before. (She’d tried looking up advice on what to wear, but once people started in on how many buttons a jacket should have she’d decided just to bring someone else along instead.) “It’s just-“ she waits until Jesse steps inside and the door falls closed, and she lowers her voice. “It’s my first official Overwatch appearance.”

She can see his jaw work, and knows that he’d be chewing on his cigar if he had one at the moment. He’s got a faraway look in his eyes, and when he refocuses on her he looks almost guilty. “I forgot,” he says, before ruffling her hair, his voice lightening. “Guess I’m just so used to having you around.”

“Yeah, well,” Nadia mutters, trying to smooth her hair back down, knowing that she’ll need help from one of the salespeople and not wanting to look ridiculous. Her mothers had gone through a lot of trouble to keep her out of the public eye as much as possible, both to protect her from retaliation and to give her some semblance of privacy. As she’d gotten older, they’d given her more choice in the matter, but she’d never wanted that sort of spotlight.

But now her parents are retiring, and the party that’s in a few days is in their honor (the first of several, she’s betting), and it finally feels like something she should be a part of. After all, she’s not a member of Overwatch itself, just the daughter of two of its most prominent members.

No pressure there.

“Easy, little lady.” Jesse’s hand settles between her shoulders, and she looks up at him.

“I’m not little,” she protests, grateful for the way he gives her the familiar protest as an out.

He nudges her forward into the store. “Little enough that they’re gonna have to tailor anything you pick out,” he teases.

“Rude,” she accuses, and he laughs. And she’s so, so grateful that he’s here.

Nadia’s even more grateful for him later, after they’ve finally settled on a jacket and the woman helping them is asking questions about colors of shirts or ties or-

“Just a pocket square, I’m thinking,” Jesse says with a glance at Nadia, who shrugs a shoulder and nods. “And I already got that.” He pulls out a small square of fabric, offering it to her.

It’s a deep blue, with a quiet pattern of white and orange, and she runs her fingers over the material with a soft sigh of appreciation. Her mothers’ colors. “Thank you,” she tells him, and has to look away from the affection in his eyes.

He’s the first one she sees when she takes her first nervous step into the ballroom, and he takes his hat off (of course he’s wearing the hat, she thinks) and winks at her, and she gives him a little wave. He nods over to her left, and she looks to see her parents surrounded by several people that Nadia doesn’t recognize. A glance back at Jesse shows that he’s resettled his hat, and he’s flapping a hand at her to go over already.

 _Rude_ , she mouths at him, and his laughter brings a smile to her face that remains as she cautiously approaches the small group.

Until Fareeha sees her, and then her mama is excusing herself to meet Nadia partway, pulling her into a hug. “That outfit really suits you,” she says quietly into her ear, and Nadia groans.

“Really?”

“Really.” Fareeha straightens and steps back so that Angela can take her place, kissing Nadia on the cheek before smoothing the front of her jacket with one hand.

“You look so handsome,” Angela tells her, and Nadia feels the tension melting from her shoulders. Because yes, she’s surrounded by powerful people and yes, she’s going to be putting herself out there all night long. But Fareeha’s cracking jokes and Angela’s beaming at her and she can hear Jesse approaching to preen about his part in all of this. And she belongs. She belongs.

She belongs.


	9. Extended Family (part 3)

She’s not supposed to watch the recruits train. Nadia’s been told that she shouldn’t be a distraction, but the morning that she listens in, that she follows the call of the instructor in her own, half-coordinated way, she knows no one had noticed her until Reinhardt scoops her up onto his shoulder and carries her away even as he laughs and teases her.

It doesn’t take long for her to realize that none of her family wants to raise a soldier. Because Lena will tell her that the world could use more heroes and then stumble over her words trying to explain all of the ways someone can be a hero. (“Like being a doctor! Like your mum! Well, not exactly like her, but like-“)

Because Jesse will regale her with stories about his first few years with Overwatch, most of them featuring her grandmother. He’ll start on some story about her teaching him how to aim and shoot for real, instead of “just another fool with a gun”. But he’ll only go into a few details before he looks at her again and leans back, adjusting his hat and his tone. And the stories become different, become telling her how Ana became Mama Bear, and she loves the stories but wonders what else he’s leaving out.

But Fareeha teaches her martial arts during some of her favorite mornings. And Nadia loves the lessons because they’re more time shared between just her and her mama, because it’s something that Fareeha obviously loves, and obviously loves sharing with her. Because it lets Nadia be strong. It teaches discipline and patience and resilience, all things that she sees in her mothers, all things that she desperately wishes to be.

Still, Nadia gets restless, despite the martial arts with Fareeha, despite the football with Angela, despite the basketball with anyone who has a free moment.

And then Genji finds her one afternoon, practicing her free throws alone, and he watches her sink two in a row before the third bounces off the rim and she heaves a sigh in frustration as she goes to retrieve the ball.

“Would you like to learn how to climb?” he asks her, and for a moment she’s sure she couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“From you?” she asks. “Like you?”

His laughter is so warm that she can’t even feel self-conscious about it. “That’s the only way I know to teach,” he says.

Nadia nods, looking down at the ball in her hands and squeezing it, feeling the way it presses back into her palms. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

“Nadia,” he says gently, crouching down to see her better. “I would enjoy teaching you. And I don’t believe your parents will object, if you’re worried about that. Such a skill would help you escape danger if that ever becomes necessary.”

The notion of being in such danger that she has to climb a wall to escape makes her wince, makes her swallow hard, makes her jerk her head into a stiff nod. She startles at a weight on her shoulder, and looks up to see Genji removing his mask with his other hand, to meet her eyes with his own.

“I also think that you will like climbing for itself.” His lips twitch upward into a smile, and she can hear that he’s holding back laughter. “You’ll certainly like the freedom it gives you.”

He’s only wrong in that she loves all of it. She loves even the training, even the times when she clings to the tiniest of handholds and hangs there to strengthen her hands and her arms. It takes the same discipline and patience of martial arts to look at a wall and plan her route, to progress one handhold at a time.

When she falls, hands scrabbling for purchase, she manages to slow herself enough that the landing doesn’t hurt other than jarring her knees. But she collapses anyway, cradling her hands near her chest as pain pulses through them, glancing down at her torn and bleeding fingertips and palms.

Genji’s at her side in an instant, one arm curling around her in comfort, the other hand at her elbow, gently tugging her to her feet. “Come on,” he says into the silence, “let’s get you to the med bay.” 

She doesn’t even mind the way he continues to gently steer her in the right direction, just a soft touch on her arm to prompt her into the right turns through the halls. She has a history of avoiding the med bay when at all possible, not wanting to bother her mom with trivialities.

It’s nice, too, to know that Genji won’t leave her to do this herself.

“Angela,” he calls out when they enter, “we need healing.”

Nadia holds up her hands in demonstration, and Angela hisses in sympathy, gesturing Nadia to sit down as she pulls out a nanite salve for her wounds.

“Genji,” she says calmly as she pulls on a pair of gloves. “You may teach my daughter many things, but your bad habits are not one of them.”

Though Nadia ducks her head to hide her smile, Genji’s laughing the loudest of them all, apologizing with exaggerated formality as Angela begins to gently spread the salve over Nadia’s fingers.

“How are you feeling?” her mom asks softly, and Nadia looks up with a lopsided smile.

“Ow,” she deadpans, and the wrinkles around her mom’s eyes are of laughter only.

—

For her fifteenth birthday, Ana gives her a card and some photographs. And the card is sweet and the photographs are beautiful, framed shots of people and places that Nadia is instantly mentally arranging in her room.

But when she looks to her grandmother to thank her, Ana taps a finger to her lips as she brushes away the gratitude, and Nadia knows that’s not the end of it. But if it was something that Ana wanted to show in front of everyone, she wouldn’t hesitate, so it’s not something that she’s holding back to spare Nadia’s feelings.

So Nadia thanks her with a small nod of acknowledgment, sees Ana’s smile and knows that they both understand.

(She catches her mama glancing between them both, because Fareeha knows her family’s various tells, but she’s distracted by Reinhardt’s booming insistence that his present should be next. Angela murmurs something in her ear and Fareeha settles back as Nadia lets out the breath she was holding.)

(Fareeha winks at her later when Ana says goodnight, and Nadia only shrugs.)

On her way home from school the next day, Nadia stops by Ana’s quarters, and her grandmother brings her in and makes her tea, and they sit at the table and talk about her day. Until Ana places a rolled piece of nylon on the table, its lumpy form secured by a strap of velcro. It looks like a tool wrap, similar to the one Hana had given her.

(Hana’s had contained several MEKA specific tools and a promise to teach her in exchange for free labor.)

“I doubt your mothers would approve,” Ana says over her cup as Nadia picks it up, weighing it carefully in her hand, wondering at the lightness of it considering the bulk. “But I always found it a very useful skill to have.”

Carefully, she undoes the strap and rolls out the nylon, running her fingers carefully over the plastic handles, drawing one at random to find a thin piece of steel in an oddly curved shape. She pulls out the next and the end is shaped like a w. There are several grouped together at the beginning without handles, and she runs her fingers over the finely shaped and sanded pieces as she considers them, all too aware of Ana’s watchful eye following her every move.

Still (or maybe because of the scrutiny), it takes until she sees the clear plastic cylinder with two keys taped to it that she realizes, finally understanding that comment about her parents not approving. “You got me lock picks?”

“As I said,” Ana tells her calmly. “I found them useful.”

They fall into silence, Ana still watching her as Nadia considers the tools spread out on the table between them. Her grandmother can be very precise with her words, and she hasn’t offered to actually teach Nadia. Maybe she simply thinks it’s something best learned on her own, through practice and experimentation.

Or maybe Ana simply wants a certain level of deniability.

No, Nadia thinks. Jesse might be like that, or some of the newer Overwatch recruits who are too worried about what her parents will think of them. She runs her fingers over the handles, finally settling on one that is the thinnest of them all, its end squared off rather than shaped like most of the others. “Would you tell me what this one’s for?”

And Ana leans back with a smile. “Combination locks,” she explains, “suitcases, luggage, those sorts of things. You insert the end into the rollers and you can feel when it turns into place-“

Nadia runs her fingers over the thin steel as she listens, committing every word to memory as best she can.

It goes like that for a couple of weeks. Nadia practices on her own as best she can, and in the afternoons she goes to Ana’s quarters to listen to her grandmother tell her about one more of the tools in the kit, learning about tension wrenches and hooks, rakes and feelers.

Until the evening when she gets to the door first and lets herself inside, asking Athena not to let anyone know unless it was an emergency. And she sits at the table and does homework and makes tea, and when Ana comes home she just accepts the offered cup with a smile, and never acknowledges it at all.

The silence makes Nadia squirm at first, but she relaxes as the evening goes on. Because the lock picking is a secret, and when well done shouldn’t be noticed. So in that light, the silence feels like a kind of congratulations.

—

She’s not sure exactly where the idea comes from. She knows it starts with Marlene, one of the new recruits, who sees her in the hangar one day, working on the MEKA with Hana (who was somehow still collecting that free labor, not that Nadia objected). Marlene says something about how Nadia should have her own project to work on, and Nadia shrugs it off - she likes being useful to others, and it’s fun to spend time with Hana.

She knows it continues with a bunch of the cadets, who pick up on Aleksandra’s nickname of “little bird” for her, calling it to her cheerfully as they run past her while doing laps. Or when Geoff cooks pancakes for breakfast and tries to make her some shaped like wings because she’s nervous about her calculus test.

(The pancakes look like nothing but a lump, and Geoff shrugs off the various ribbings with a grin. “At least you’ll be better at the test than I am at pancakes,” he says, and Nadia heads off to school with a smile.)

It comes together when Jiyang finds her on the roof of the watchpoint one evening, startling at the figure perched near the edge. “Please tell me you flew up here,” she says, “cause I didn’t notice anyone come by me.”

“I climbed it,” Nadia answers, gesturing to the wall near her feet. “But flying probably would’ve been more fun.”

“The Raptora always seemed like it would be hell on your joints, and it’s probably terrifying the first few times,” Jiyang says as she drops to sit next to Nadia. “But I’d love to try it at least once.”

“Yeah.” Nadia’s voice is soft, and Jiyang doesn’t press her. But the absentminded way she plucks at her sleeve isn’t because she doesn’t want to discuss her mother. It’s because she’s imagining flying. On her own. For real.

All of which leads her deep inside the watchpoint one evening, outside the old armory for where Overwatch stores extra pieces that are too valuable (or dangerous) to give to museums or the like, but cannot or should not be broken down and disposed of. Armor and weapons that might have a use someday, they say, but Nadia can tell that no one’s been here for ages.

And it’s looking to stay that way, because of course the armory doesn’t have a lock that she can pick, but an electronic pad that she has no hope of bypassing.

Not until the pad lights up purple, at least.

**0451** , the display blinks at her, the 0 containing Sombra’s skull.

Nadia looks around until she spots the nearest security camera, giving it a little wave, figuring Sombra must be watching her. “You are going to teach me that someday, right?”

The numbers on the screen disappear. **I’m not good at sharing.**

“Then why are you doing this?” There’d been some reservations about accepting the hacker into Overwatch’s ranks, and though she’s always been friendly toward Nadia, they’d never been close.

**It’ll be interesting.** That’s all she gets before the words and the purple light fade from the panel display, leaving behind a digital keypad.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Nadia murmurs to herself, punching in the code Sombra gave her, watching the screen turn green as the lock on the door releases with a loud click. She gives a thumbs up to the camera, just in case, takes a deep breath, and pushes the door open.

She knows what she wants, as the swing of the door triggers the lights to come on, illuminating the room. The Mark VI Raptora is on display, but the Mark VII is still here, now a backup to a backup to a backup. It had never been her mother’s favorite design, and had a short lived career on the field.

Nadia figures that’s only to her advantage, because the way she wants to modify it will render it unusable by her mother. And if she’s going to destroy something, better it to be something that won’t be missed.

Running her fingers over the smooth plating of the chest, Nadia considers how she wants to start. She’s not as tall or as strong as Fareeha, so the suit will have to be trimmed down to fit her and to allow her to carry the weight more easily. Otherwise she’ll struggle on the ground and with control while in the air.

(When she’s ever going to actually get a chance to fly this, she doesn’t know, but if she’s going to do this, she’ll do it correctly.)

She’s going to take out the weapons systems. That will save her weight and, when someone inevitably discovers what she’s doing (or when Sombra decides she needs to cause some mischief), it’ll be easier to explain what she’s doing if it doesn’t look like she’s stealing a small arsenal.

Plus, her parents have succeeded: she’s not a soldier. She’s not planning on flying this into combat.

But she can make the engines quieter and more efficient; she can make the suit faster. Perhaps without needing weapons integration she can turn more of the Raptora’s OS to flight capabilities, make it easier to control or smoother. Maybe with the weight she’s saving she can add some stabilizers, anything like that might help.

(Especially because her first flight might be her last if they want to take it away from her, so she wants to make sure the first flight is a good one.)

Honestly, she could probably do away with most of the plating and do something akin to a jetpack, but dismantling the Raptora to that extent makes Nadia uneasy, somehow. Like it’s disrespectful. Plus, the Raptora just looks cooler.

And she is her mother’s daughter.

—

With the memory of the alarms still echoing in her mind, Nadia does something she’s never done before: she enters the operation control room while official Overwatch business is happening.

And she’s not even given time to hesitate, because her mom is facing down the table in full fury. “They cannot wait for help,” Angela snaps, and Nadia can appreciate the way almost no one at the table can meet Angela’s eyes. “If a full group needs time to gather, then fine. I’ll go on ahead.”

Except Hana, who regards the doctor with a weariness that Nadia can feel in her voice. “And just how will you get there?” she asks, and that’s when Nadia knows she has to speak. Because for once she can say the exact thing her mom needs to hear.

“I can get her there,” she announces, though her voice is softer and more hesitant than she would like. But loud enough - unexpected enough - that everyone is suddenly looking at her. She sees the hesitation on some faces, the fear on others as they glance between her and the two who were just arguing, now silent in the face of her proclamation.

It’s Hana who recovers first. “What do you know of the situation?” she demands, but it’s not a dismissal, not a criticism. It’s a need for information, to see if Nadia knows what she’s getting herself into.

“One of the nearby outposts is under attack,” Nadia answers, thinking back to the purple message that had lit up her computer screen. “Communications have been cut off, and we’re not sure they’ve noticed the pincer attack moving from the west as well as the main group. They might be about to get blindsided.”

Someone whistles and Hana mutters under her breath. “How will you get there?”

Though Nadia looks briefly at Hana, she quickly looks to her mom, reading the resignation, the fear, the _pride_ in her face. “I modified one of the older Raptora models. I can fly it.”

To her credit, Hana doesn’t even blink at that bit of news. “How much have you flown it? I don’t think I’ve seen you out at the training fields at all.”

“I’ve… only flown it in the lab,” Nadia says carefully. “And I- I removed the missiles.”

“This is insane,” Hana tells her. “You’re asking me to send a total no- an untrained person into a war zone, in equipment they’ve barely touched, without a weapon?”

“Frankly Captain, it’s not a request,” she hears herself say, as if from some distance, almost not realizing that she’s the one that spoke at all. Hana’s just staring back at her, and Nadia tries to plead with her silently: _trust me_.

They hold each other’s gaze for a while, before Hana, throwing her hands into the air, turns to Angela. “She’s _your_ daughter,” she says, and it feels like frustration that she has to deal with this from two people, and it feels like approval that Nadia is standing her ground, and it feels like acceptance that Hana is not trying to stand in her way. It feels like trust. It feels like love.

“I’ll go look it over with her,” Angela says. “If it’s safe, we’ll go on ahead. If it’s not, I promise I’ll wait for the rest of the group.”

“Fareeha’s gonna kill me when you two show up,” Hana mutters, flapping a hand at the door. “RIP me.”

“Mom-“ Nadia starts as they step outside the room, but Angela shakes her head.

“We’re going to take one flight around the practice field together and we’ll decide after that,” she says. “So let’s get suited up. We can talk about everything else later.”

Unsure of what to do but nod, Nadia leads her mother down to the armory, where the Raptora Mark VII is laid out across a table, ready to go. Angela picks up a piece, inspecting the new joints where Nadia had to shorten the greaves, nodding to herself.

“Well then,” she says, putting the greave down and picking up the chest piece. “I’ve assisted Fareeha with this enough times. Let’s get started.”

Nadia doesn’t know how to describe it. How to capture the swift and sure way that her mother latches the Raptora around her left leg while Nadia adjusts the gauntlets. Or the way her fingers linger over the flag carefully detailed on her left shoulder, or the look in her eyes as she offers Nadia the helmet.

But she knows she never wants to forget it.

They walk to the hangar, and while Angela dons the Valkyrie, Nadia takes a few quick loops alone in the yard, trying to ignore the people stopping to watch, trying not to let them distract from the joy of her first flight outside, in the sky. She’s so busy trying not to pay attention that she doesn’t realize that her mother is ready until suddenly there’s another presence in the air next to her, and she turns to see Mercy hovering at her side.

“Do you love it?” Mercy asks her, and Nadia smiles, shier in front of her mother than she’s felt in a long time.

“Yes.”

“Then show me.”

And they fly.

And she’s not perfect, not by a long shot. She’s so fast that it’s easy to leave Mercy behind, so fast that she often has to double back to pick her up again, but so fast that her mother is never alone for long. This Raptora - her Raptora - was built for control, and she dodges and weaves effortlessly until Hana waves them to the ground.

“I take it you’re both going?” she asks gruffly, and Mercy nods for them both. Hana looks between them, then points at Nadia. “Then come up with a callsign. I don’t want to hail you and have everyone figure out who you are.”

The word pops into her mind without thought, but Nadia bites it back, wanting to think about it a bit. But honestly, it feels right. About what she wants from this mission. About what Overwatch means to her. About who her parents are, and what they’ve given her. “Nostos,” she says.

And her mother at her side beams. “Homecoming.”

“Yeah.” Nadia rolls her shoulders, somewhat of a shrug, somewhat settling the armor against her. “Plus, you know, the whole N sound thing will help me remember.”

“Nostos. Mercy.” Hana salutes them. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“We’re counting on you,” Mercy says, while Nadia returns the salute, though much more sloppily.

They take to the sky and turn toward the outpost, and Nadia’s relieved to hear Hana’s voice in her ear. “We’ll work on that when you get back, kid.”

 

So at least Hana’s not too pissed with her.

And at least, at least they can fly in an arc, curving to approach the outpost from the opposite direction as the enemy. At least she can concentrate on her flying, on not outpacing her mother, without having to worry about avoiding danger.

(In her head, her first flight would be one of joy, of accomplishment. The thought of those in danger at the outpost tamps her excitement, though the thrill is still there, mixed with the anxiety churning in her stomach as they get closer. She hopes that the suit will succeed. She hopes they won’t be shot at. She’s hopes they’re not too late.)

“You’re dumping a lot of heat,” Mercy’s voice rings in her ear, and if Nadia can’t believe she’s flying, she certainly can’t wrap her head around her mother just behind her and… above her?

“I didn’t finish some of the optimizations yet,” Nadia replies and hears her mother hmm, as if for all the world Nadia had asked her something from her homework.

“While I’m sure we’re quite colorful on thermal imaging,” she says, “I admit the updrafts help with my wings.” Then she sighs softly. “Something for another time.”

_I hope not,_ Nadia wants to say. Because they were retired, they were retiring, but here Mercy is in the air with her as they fly towards the outpost that Pharah is inspecting.

Then again, maybe they’ll get to use their suits to just fly.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a crackle in her ear. “This is Overwatch ground station, identity yourselves.”

“Uh-“

“This is Mercy and Nostos,” her mother cuts in smoothly. “We’re coming in.”

“Nostos? That callsign isn’t-” There’s a scuffle over the comms, and the clear sound of a chair being scooted back before a familiar voice comes though the headset.

“Did you _paint_ my _suit_?”

Nadia has to choke back laughter at Fareeha’s mock outraged tone. “Yes?”

“Come on in and let me see this.” The line clicks off and they start their descent.

They land in the courtyard, where Fareeha is standing straight, her blue and gold Raptora shining in the midday sun. “They haven’t attacked yet,” she says as Nadia pulls off her helmet and shakes out her hair. “They’re waiting for something.”

“There are reinforcements coming from the west,” Nadia tells her, mimicking her mother’s stance, her mom still by her side. “They’re probably waiting for them to get closer, or for nightfall, when you might notice the flank less.”

“Hana’s sending some more people over,” Angela adds. “Without the long range comms we weren’t sure if you’d been attacked yet. And, for the record, I think she looks good in white.”

Nadia hides a grin, but her mama is staring at her knowingly, so she shrugs. “Plus the whole noncombatant thing.” She wants to tell her more, wants to tell her that she thought about it a lot, wanted something that would differentiate her from her mother so that no one would think she could provide aid that she couldn’t, that she tried to find something that would accentuate her country’s flag.

That she didn’t just take the Raptora because she could, or because it was her mother’s and she thought they might give her more leniency when discovered. That this is something that she’s done because she cared about the final result, even if this isn’t how she imagined using it.

But for all that her parents seem fairly relaxed (now that Angela has seen for herself that there are no wounded, now that Nadia has signaled that she’s not intending to fight), it doesn’t seem like the time.

“It’ll be good to have you here,” Fareeha is telling her wife, before looking at her daughter. “And I don’t want to send you back by yourself, if you’re okay with staying here.”

Nadia nods and watches her parents walk away as she looks around, trying to decide what she can do to help before the attack starts. Until she hears Fareeha calling her name.

“And Nadia! That landing was atrocious. When we get back, remind me to show you a few things.”

Nadia salutes and beams and imagines them all flying together.

And nothing seems more perfect.


	10. Letters Home

The first time, it’s pure impulse. Angela’s up in the middle of the night, not because of research or a mission but because Nadia had woken up, crying loud enough that Angela’s sure they didn’t need the monitor sitting by the bed at all.

And Angela had slid out of bed before Fareeha could react, had cradled Nadia in one arm as she warmed a bottle with her free hand, a dexterity she’s had to learn in the past two months.

Though Nadia is quickly fed and burped and resettled, it is not so easy for Angela to return to bed. Because no matter how tired she is, she knows that she would toss and turn, still too awake and alert to really relax yet. She’d likely disturb Fareeha, who’s taken more than her fair share of turns getting up in the middle of night, and certainly doesn’t deserve to be awoken by her partner as well as her daughter.

She wants to talk, but Fareeha is out of the question for the same reason that Angela doesn’t want to return to bed just yet. The others… even if some (like Hana, she suspects, glancing at the clock) may still be awake, they won’t necessarily want to have a conversation in return. Plus, that would involve leaving their quarters, and even if Angela wanted to, it would leave Fareeha to handle Nadia alone.

(Which she has proven herself more than capable of, but sometimes it’s simply easier to have another person around. Certainly they’ve gotten up together multiple times before, to either hand Nadia off or simply for moral support. Sometimes Angela’s feeding Nadia her bottle while leaning back into Fareeha’s chest, or Fareeha’s humming a song to Nadia as Angela kisses the back of her neck.)

Sometimes it’s nicer just to share the moments with someone who understands, who loves the same as she does.

Angela sits in front of her computer, waking it up and turning down the brightness with a wince. She opens a recording program, aware of how the dim light will do nothing for the dark circles under her eyes, smoothing a hand reflexively over her hair. After taking a deep breath, she hits record.

“Hi. I’m so glad you went right back to sleep. It’s not always that simple. Ana sometimes offers to give you a little of her sleep dart formula, and I have to say on some nights it’s tempting.” She laughs a little, tiredly, because even though it’s nice to think that there’s a magic solution she’d never take it even if Ana was serious.

(She doesn’t think Ana is serious.)

“It’s just scary, not knowing what’s wrong, thinking that you’re upset or hurting and that I can’t fix it. I’m up half the night sometimes even when you go back to sleep worrying about it. And I’m exhausted and I’m terrified and I’m so, so happy. You make me so happy, and I don’t even really know you yet. I can’t wait to know you.”

Saying the words soothes her, and Angela reaches forward to turn the recording off before leaning back in the chair and rubbing a hand over her face, feeling sleep fog the corners of her mind. Back to bed then, she decides, shuffling to the bedroom and carefully crawling back into bed. With more caution than necessary, because Fareeha barely stirs in her sleep even as Angela wraps an arm around her.

And, like her daughter, quickly falls back asleep.

In the morning, when she finds herself in front of her computer again, she’s greeted by a prompt to name the recording she made last night. For a moment, she’s tempted to simply delete it, this impulsive thing from three AM.

But then, thinking about it a little more, she realizes that maybe it’s not such a bad thing to save. Not such a horrible way to document these early days (and she has always been one for careful research notes and records). Not that she expects that she will forget any part of this, not readily, but she is also aware of how memories fade with time, even the most precious of them.

She’s thinking of her parents. And how she doesn’t always hear their voices as quickly as she used to.

And then she thinks about Nadia. Because time is so short, sometimes. So precious and unthought of. Because it’s true that she and Fareeha work in a dangerous profession, that they put their lives on the line almost every time they go out into the field. But her parents didn’t. And they were taken from her all the same. The same could be true of them; even leaving Overwatch would not make them safe, would not guarantee they have the amount of time that Angela hopes for.

So instead, maybe it’s not such a bad thing to record these things and to hold them in reserve as a gift just in case the worst should happen. So that Nadia will not have a chance to forget Angela’s face or voice. Won’t have the chance to forget how much she adores her. Will always have the opportunity to hear her mother say that she loves her, no matter what, always, to eternity.

Because Angela will never hear how proud her parents are of her ever again.

It is a worst case scenario, but Angela has always planned for worst case scenario.

So this little impulse, this small thing she did to help her try and sleep again, becomes something that she thinks of more often. That she tries to do on occasion. To leave a record of all the things she wants to tell Nadia. All the things she wants her to know.

—

“You said your first word today. ‘Up’. The others are all laughing; they think that it’s a little too on the nose, saying that it must be something we planned or encouraged. But I love it. I love that your first word is you wanting to play. And I love how everyone’s coming by and saying it to you so that you will repeat it back to them. How gleefully you accept their offer to play.

And it’s been…enlightening to watch the joy on their faces. I love it. As they lift you up over their heads and laugh to hear your laughter.

I’ve already told you that you bring me joy. I hope you know that you bring everyone else joy too. Because I knew that it would be difficult to raise you around Overwatch, and I know we’ve barely scratched the surface of that yet, that there are more compromises that we will have to make. But I didn’t consider the way you would improve us. That you would help us.

I haven’t seen some of them laugh like that in quite some time. I thought, for an instant, that I would have to pry you out of Jesse’s arms. I think that he will be very good to you. I know that you will be good for him.”

—

“We sent you off for your first day of school today. I hope you love it. You have always been curious, and it’s one of the things I love most about you. And you’re so much more fearless than I remember being as a child. You must have somehow gotten that from Fareeha.

I can see ourselves in you so often. It’s… incredible, and humbling. To know that I only want the best for you, to know that you can be the best of us. I have no doubt you will be.”

—

“Hey! Come over here and say something.”

“Hello, little one. See this gray streak?” Fareeha leans forward, smoothing her fingers over the front right side of her head, fingers tracing the silver in her hair. “That’s all you.”

“Fareeha!” Angela chides her, smiling as Fareeha smirks into the camera before pressing a consoling kiss to Angela’s cheek. “Say something for real.”

“Something for real.”

Groaning, Angela lets her head fall onto Fareeha’s shoulder, trying to ignore the way it shakes with laughter. “I take it back: don’t say anything at all.”

“Too late. Besides,” Fareeha adds, turning her attention back to the camera and gesturing toward it. “You’re used to seeing us like this. I think I’ve been called embarrassing a thousand times by now. Hope you’re getting used to it - it’s an Amari tradition.”

“And you can change, you know, any time you want. If you’d rather be a Ziegler than an Amari.” Angela interjects quickly, hiding a giggle as Fareeha frowns theatrically at her.

“But you are an Amari. Strong, loyal, confident-“

“Stubborn, reckless-“

“ _You’re_ an Amari, you know.”

Angela ignores her. “But you’re a perfect Ziegler, too. Thoughtful, compassionate, capable-“

“Headstrong, bossy-“

Angela elbows Fareeha in the side (though gently), and they both break into soft laughter. When it finally peters out, their hands find each other, fingers twining together. Angela smiles up at Fareeha. “You’re brave,” she says.

“You’re brilliant.”

“You’re passionate.”

“You’re idealistic.” Fareeha says, teeth flashing in a grin. “We’re doing a hell of a job.”

Angela shakes her head, but her eyes are bright with mirth. “If we do say so ourselves.”

“Are you going to argue?”

“Never.”

—

“So you know that we had to ground you - because really, _what were you thinking_ \- but at least you and Jamison were only shooting water balloons at people. And I don’t know whether I’m more impressed by the mortar you two improvised or that you somehow convinced him that water balloons were enough.”

—

“I think that I tell you these things enough. Because I do try to say all of these things directly to you, and not just to the camera. I want you to hear them constantly, to believe them. I know you worry sometimes, about what other people think. About what we expect.

So I just need to tell you that I love you. I need you to know how important you are to me. I need you to know how incredibly fortunate I am to be your mother, for you to be my child. I want you to know how proud of you I am. And that those things will always be true.

If everything in my life was to lead me to the family that I have now, then I’m so grateful for every step. You are the greatest gift this world has ever given me.”


	11. soccer moms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally based off of the AMA of Lucie Pohl (Mercy's VA) where she said that Mercy plays soccer/football in her spare time. And then the Pharah soccer spray came out and, well...

She plays in high school. In the beginning it was because her guardian all but forced her to, thinking it would be good for Angela to have an outlet that isn’t just her studies. And then she finds that it _is_ , because football lets her run, lets her range up and down the field while the rhythm of her feet and her breathing drive all the other thoughts out of her head. Lets her drill a free kick toward the goal with all of her pent up frustration at the world, lets each pass be made with the same precision she uses to answer calculus problems, lets every challenge and tackle have textbook form and timing.

But she doesn’t continue at university, because she’s already giving her advisor a heart attack with all the classes she wants to take without adding a sport on top of it. (Truthfully, even she probably couldn’t juggle the workload with practices and games, but that’s the price she pays for trying to major in three different subjects at once.)

Angela carries the love of the game with her, though it’s not a piece of her history that she shares very often. But it’s an easy enough topic to broach with most people, to talk to patients about to set them more at ease as she scribbles down notes or prepares shots.

(Cadet Oxton relaxes visibly and starts chattering about the women’s world cup, and when she starts listing off names of players with no hesitation, Angela hides a smile.)

And it’s something that she uses during relief missions, sometimes, when she can spare the moments away from the medical tents, when she’s forced away from them. Because all they need for a game is a ball and some lines on the ground. Because the children laugh in delight when she juggles the ball between her feet and knees and head, crowd around to play and to show off their own skills, their own ability to dribble and pass and stop on a dime.

Because playing football, for a moment, lets them have that normalcy, that reminder that the straits they are in are only temporary, that hope that everything will be all right.

When Overwatch is recalled, she loses even those small moments. Because they’re too small a team with too big a problem, and stopping Talon and preventing a second Crisis cuts into her sleep and her meals so much that socialization is almost entirely out of the question.

(The new recruits now know her as something of a recluse, much to her dismay.)

Until Fareeha. Until the world is safe again.

Until Nadia.

And Angela’s not surprised when her daughter grows up loving the beautiful game, that she hears that term from Lucio and falls in love with the phrase as well as the sport. Grows up happily sitting on laps as various teams of all different leagues play across the screen, cheering even before she understands because the people she loves are excited by what’s happening.

(She’s not surprised when Nadia grows up playing basketball either, because even though the games are not so highly regarded, there are basketballs and hoops scattered all over the watchpoints. Because it’s easy to find someone to pick up a game with. Because Fareeha loves the sport.)

She doesn’t think anything of it then, when she notices Nadia practicing her free throws. But when the next day Angela sees her daughter dribbling the football around by herself, she realizes that Nadia’s two favorite sports are both ones that she can practice by herself when necessary. When no one’s available to play with her because Overwatch has pulled them away.

That breaks her heart.

So Angela delegates watching the infirmary to some of the others several times a week, and the time becomes Nadia’s and Nadia’s alone. Sometimes they bake together, whatever recipe Nadia’s found that she wants to try, and sometimes they just talk.

But most of the time, they play.

Under blue, blue skies or clouds, slipping through wet grass and mud or with dirt rising up under every footfall, they play. Nadia runs all over the field trying to keep the ball away from Angela, trying to control every touch so that her mother can never get a foot on it. When Nadia wants a break from running, Angela will attack the goal and Nadia will have to steal the ball from her. When Angela needs a break, they practice set pieces, and she crosses the ball into the box as Nadia times her runs to slot the ball into the back of the net.

(She makes Nadia run to retrieve any missed pass, because she has younger legs and because her daughter has so much energy at times.)

Afterwards, they’ll go inside and drink water and chocolate milk, and after they change clothes Angela will braid Nadia’s hair (when it’s still long enough to do so) as they relax in front of some mindless show.

When Nadia gets older, they occasionally recruit Fareeha to their games as a goalkeeper. Once she’s running late and shows up in full Raptora gear, pretending to gloat about how Nadia will never be able to be faster than her jets and Angela shakes her head as Nadia doubles over in laughter.

On the nicest days, though, when Fareeha’s pretend grumbling about being stuck in goal feels more real than usual, they’ll play two versus one, rotating positions. Or they’ll work on one particular drill, and Fareeha and Nadia will line up next to each other, waiting for Angela to drop the ball before racing toward it. Whoever touches the ball first plays offense, the other has to defend as Angela watches and calls out advice.

After a few rounds, Fareeha takes over coaching duties, letting Angela and Nadia duke it out, and Angela finds laughter bubbling from her as Nadia stops the ball with just a touch, spins it around Angela’s side and neatly side foots it directly in the middle of the goal.

When Nadia grabs the ball, she’s beaming and she’s flushed, and she clutches the ball to her chest when Fareeha holds her hands out for it. “You two play each other,” she says, and Fareeha smiles and shrugs and lines up in one position. She glances over at Angela with a wink, and the doctor nods back at her, accepting the unspoken proposition to take it a little easy.

Except that as soon as Nadia tosses the ball, Angela’s sprinting for it, hearing Fareeha’s surprised grunt as she accelerates, much too late to catch Angela, much too late to stop her from pounding the ball into the corner of the net before arms wrap around her waist from behind and Angela is laughing so hard as she’s lifted into the air and spun around.

She’s breathless by the time Fareeha puts her back on her feet, slightly dizzy as she leans into Fareeha’s solid support, grinning even harder as Fareeha whispers, “Cheater,” into her ear.

“All’s fair,” she retorts, and Fareeha kisses her cheek softly.

“And you!” Fareeha calls out, looking up, looking over at where Nadia is watching. “You tossed the ball her way,” she accuses gently, carefully releasing Angela and starting to stalk over to their daughter.

Who is slowly backing away even as a smile spreads across her face. “Never. I’d _never_ ,” she insists, then turns and starts running, prompting Fareeha to give chase.

Angela sits in the grass, watching them run all over the field, Fareeha yelling something about what happens when she catches Nadia, Nadia calling back that tickling is a red card offense. She watches until Fareeha finally scoops Nadia into her arms, their daughter calling out “red card, red card” between shrieks of laughter.

Leaning back, Angela looks up at the clear skies above them, because this is what she’d been fighting for.


End file.
